The Fee Entail
by WadeH
Summary: Fitzwilliam Darcy is delayed until November for his 1812 trip to Rosings, so he has not seen or heard any news of the inhabitants of Hertfordshire for a year. He encounters something at Rosings that leaves him badly shaken, and starts him to a journey he could not have imagined.
1. Horseshoe

_Welcome back to my loyal readers and a hearty welcome to new ones!_

 _This story is once again a writing experiment, although as usual I won't tell you exactly what I'm trying to do… just that it's a completely different writing style from my previous work. My last story, Letters from Cheapside had precisely zero dialogue, so if you're a fan of quotation marks you should be happy to see they have made a resurgence. As always, I would like to know what you think, and you can make my day with a review or fav._

 _Fair Warning : Rated T+ - Contains mature themes and brief descriptions of physical spousal abuse, verbal abuse and r***. It also has what may be considered wildly out of character behavior and a few downright malevolent souls, but I believe it also has more than a touch of humor and quite a bit of redemption as well. _

_Of course, you also have the added hazard of a number of overused JAFF tropes. Regency propriety is not maintained at all times, although I believe the behavior actually closer to the truth than you might think. My women characters are stronger than is usual in this genre, but if you're one of my regular readers you're used to it by now. I explain more of this in chapter 12._

 _The first few chapters are fairly rough going, so strap yourself in and grab a box of Kleenex and a can of Mace._

 _Wade_

* * *

It all started with a horseshoe. Well, truth be told, only the latter half of the story started with a horseshoe, as it had been going on for a year before the day I found myself cursing my steed. In general, I tend to think better of my horse than I do of most people. It's not that I dislike the company of my friends and relatives mind you. It's just that I prefer the company of my horse. It never argues with me, or at least when it does, it's always on concrete terms. There is nothing subtle with a horse. There are no delicate half‑disguised jibes or innuendo. A beast is completely devoid of flirtatious and insincere flattery. It never involves itself in batting of eyelashes, shameless boasting, brandy theft, display of entirely too much décolletage, or attempts to entrap or compromise me. It never hints it needs more money, or introductions in society or anything other than good food, a good stall, a hard ride now and again and the occasional brushing or carrot. It always refrains from subtle or not so subtle hints about matrimony. He either takes me where I wish to go, or dumps me unceremoniously on the ground. Everything about a horse is all or nothing.

Now there I was, walking the last mile to Hunsford with a bad shoe, and I was not overly enamored with the beast; although I had to admit, that it was not its fault. I remember the day well. It was Friday, the 27th of November in 1812, and I had endured a trying year with one difficulty after another. My sojourn to Hertfordshire the previous winter had ended badly, with myself and the entire Netherfield party leaving abruptly. I had heard nothing of the people I met there in all that time, nor made any real effort to. I missed my annual Easter trip to Rosings due to flooding at Pemberley, and most of the season in town due to a fire at Pemberley and numerous problems with highwaymen in Derbyshire.

Missing the Easter visit was actually quite to my satisfaction at the time, as I knew my aunt's parson was related to the Bennets and I had no desire to hear any more of their doings. I was entirely unsatisfied with the way the whole affair had ended, but unwilling to reopen the matter. I was rarely in company with Bingley anymore, but when I was, he still seemed affected. Of course, not keeping company with Bingley had the supreme benefit of removing me from the disagreeable company of his sisters, but I did miss my friend.

I would have happily dispensed with the visit altogether until next Easter, but I was finally worn down by the endless and ceaseless nagging of my Aunt Catherine, who had lately been joined by my Uncle Matlock. It eventually became clear that duty would win out over my preferences, so here I was riding my horse to Rosings in a cold but thankfully not rainy November day, because I was in too poor of a humor to take the carriage.

Even that plan went sour a few miles from my goal with a lost horseshoe. After walking the last mile to Hunsford, I decided to walk the rest of the way to Rosings. I could have gotten another animal simply enough from the farrier, but judged that another mile of walking just _might_ put me under good enough regulation to withstand the assault I would receive from Aunt Catherine. I was more than two hours past her ridiculous and arbitrarily designated time I should arrive. I did not even want to contemplate the oncoming assault to my equanimity encompassed by her ceaseless attempts to wed me to my cousin Anne, who frankly would have married the most repulsive man in Kent before me.

Halfway to Rosings, I suddenly recalled the obsequious parson who had introduced himself to me at Netherfield with some alarm. I thought he seemed like just the sort of man to hide out in a parlor overlooking the lane just looking for gentlemen to accost. I neither wanted him fawning over me, nor telling me anything related to his cousins in Hertfordshire in my present humor, so I decided on an eminently sensible course of action. I knew the area well from my visits as a boy, and in a moment I decided I could stay well out of his sight by taking a shortcut just past the corner of the parsonage, that led out the back to a path that went a half-mile to Rosings. Even though I would pass within a few paces of the parsonage, I would be most unlikely to be seen, and going all the way around through the palings would add yet another mile to an already interminable journey.

Seeing the parsonage in front of me reminded me of _her_. I had thought that she would be well gone from my mind by then, but alas, exactly a year and a day from the last time I had seen _her_ at the ball at Netherfield, it was not to be. She still haunted me. The entertainments I had managed to attend in town this year had all been tainted by some _lack_. The ladies I met all seemed insipid, the entertainers flat, the gentlemen boorish, the company generally disagreeable. On top of that, I occasionally thought I was going mad, as I sometimes believed I heard _her_ voice calling to me seductively. Even worse yet, I occasionally imagined I heard the voices of her flirtatious sisters only a step away from ruining the whole family; or the high pitched screeching of her mother, as bad a mercenary as I have ever seen; or the low rumble of her father, ridiculing his family as it destroyed itself. I have to say I will not even trouble you with a description of my dreams. Those must be forever lost to the mists of time, as they should be.

I had just gained the corner of the parsonage, thankfully still out of sight of anyone that might inhabit it, when I had the oddest hallucination of all. I could swear I heard the voice of _her father_ , but without the ridiculing chuckle he always seemed to use. This was her father with a hard edge, and it took me quite a moment to realize it _was actually his voice_, coming from the region of a carriage I had astonishingly not noticed drawn up at the front of the parsonage, so great had been my distraction.

I stopped abruptly, although I had a sinking suspicion I would regret it. What was I to do, eavesdrop on a private conversation? However, I found I could _not_ help myself, so I silently moved to a corner of the parsonage where I could see the carriage and team without being seen. Sure enough, there was Mr. Bennet in the flesh. He looked considerably different than he had in Hertfordshire, as if the past year had aged him a decade instead of a year. His voice had no warmth whatsoever, but it was his words that shocked me senseless.

" _I must talk to you_. Why have you ignored my letters?"

The voice had an _edge_ to it that was not the least to my liking. It was actually somewhat frightening in its intensity, and I wondered what could possibly have wrought the change.

That was _nothing_ however to the next voice I heard, which was so hard and sharp you could cut stones with it. Far worse was the dismay of hearing who it belonged to.

 _" Do not **ever** call me that ever again!_ _I am **Mrs. Collins** to you!"_

My mind nearly exploded with the horror of the tone of voice used, which had enough venom to kill a dozen horses. Any man who spoke to me like that would only do so while calling me out. My mind could barely even comprehend the horror of the revelation. _Elizabeth Bennet _wed to that odious parson was a nightmare come true. She would never have done so willingly, so that meant her father must have forced the marriage. Her tone of voice gave weight to that idea, and furthermore showed exactly what she thought of the proceedings. Her next words, spoken with even more venom confirmed it. How had the world come to this?

 _" You forced that name on me, so you will use it and no other, Bennet!"_

Sounding grim but resolute, Mr. Bennet continued.

"Have you no respect for your father?"

"I have no father nor mother. State your business and be gone!"

Missing my own parents terribly, I could not even comprehend the horror of coming to loath your own parents enough to disown them, yet clearly she had.

Mr. Bennet was apparently in no trifling mood, so he answered with similar implacable resentment.

"Very well, Mrs. Collins! I have important matters to discuss, so let me come in."

Her next words, if possible, were even harsher.

"No Bennet. While I breathe, neither you nor your wife shall ever cross the threshold of any home where I am mistress. If you have something to say, do so here and now, or be gone... but be aware, my patience is nearly at an end."

I noticed she would not even give her father the bare civility of calling him 'mister', or inviting him into her home. She had apparently lost any and all respect for the man, which I had to agree with. The amiable and indolent Mr. Bennet seemed to have been replaced with something much more malevolent, as his voice took on a hard edge to match his daughter's. It was in fact hard enough for me to be concerned for the safety of her person.

"Very well, _Mrs. Collins!_ You have not responded to my letters of the last six months, or the last year for that matter. I sent them express to underscore their importance and to save you the postage, as I assume you would have refused to pay it."

Elizabeth responded with a tone that on the surface sounded something like the sweet and innocent woman I remembered, but with an entirely different and darker feeling that one would be unwise to tempt.

"I must say Bennet, I enjoyed the letters immensely. The wax gives off such a pretty blue smoke when they burn, but I wish you would desist from sending them. I have no intention of ever reading anything from you, and they do not produce enough heat to be of any practical value. If you want to send me something to burn, I prefer coal."

I stood rooted to the spot in shock, unable to think or even breathe. The hostility from Miss Bennet... no, Mrs. Collins now… was unmistakable. I knew perfectly well that I _should not_ be listening, but just could not make myself keep moving. Now that I had heard the start of the conversation, I determined I _must_ hear the rest. My very sanity demanded it.

"I have heard rumors, Mrs. Collins, that your husband's health is not the best."

Miss Elizabeth gave a mocking half-laughing reply that did not speak well to either her state of mind or her husband's safety.

"Mr. Collins' health is as he deserves. He caught a fever three months past. It thoroughly ravaged his mind, which shall never return apparently; not that it was anything to boast of in the first place. The great and condescending Lady Catherine would like him dead and gone with so she can transfer the living to another mindless sycophant. She has brought in three physicians from town. All agree he will most likely never leave his bed and will survive no more than another year or two with reasonable care. I hope you are happy, _Bennet_. The entail will be broken. Go back to Longbourn, and leave me to my own misery."

I heard what sounded like Elizabeth preparing to walk away from the confrontation, but her father was apparently not yet finished.

"It is not that simple, Elizabeth."

I heard the rustle of skirts and stomping of heavy booted feet that I believed meant she whipped back around in great agitation, and I wished beyond reason I could move to where I could see her, but I dared not.

"I told you, do not call me that! I will not remind you again."

Apparently trying to reign in his temper, Mr. Bennet continued.

" _Very well, Mrs. Collins!_ You say your husband will not survive more than two years. Well I must inform you, that I will not survive much longer either."

I gasped but managed to keep it silent. I was on pins and needles awaiting her reply, and just shook my head in despair when she made not a sound, and then replied with a single word.

"Good"

That apparently set Mr. Bennet back, as his voice contained nothing but pain when he replied.

"Do you have no concern for your parents or your sisters, Mrs. Collins?"

If at all possible, Elizabeth's voice contained even more fury; sufficient to worry me if Mr. Bennet was even safe from her.

" ** _How dare you_**! My sisters are all I care about in this world! You and your wife forced me into this marriage ostensibly to save them, but never had enoughs honesty to admit that you sacrificed _my_ life to make up for _your_ deficiencies as parents. _Five and twenty years_ you had to save, and yet not a single daughter has a dowry. Five and twenty years of your wife spending money like water, and you spending your share in books. _Not a single dowry. _You raised one sweet and genteel lady in your eldest and four hoydens. Only one of your daughters has ever fallen in love, and you and your wife drove away the only decent suitor any of us ever had with her ill‑breeding, bad manners, and mercenary ways. All the while, you stood to the side laughing like Nero at your own family while it destroyed itself. So I say again. How Dare You! ... As for parents, I have none! I am finished with the both of you."

Her father seemed both defeated and resolute in the face of her fury. Who would not be completely undone by such a set down. However, he gathered what was left of his courage and continued, "I will accept my due censure, but do you truly believe all your sister's problems will be over when both Mr. Collins and I are dead?"

"Perhaps not, but then I shall be rid of the both of you, much to my satisfaction."

"Perhaps to your satisfaction, Mrs. Collins, but _not_ to the benefit of your sisters."

Now Elizabeth paused, while I held my breath in anticipation. What malfeasance was this man planning to pile onto the woman who was previously his favorite daughter?

"The entail ends with this generation. Even I know that, so simply give Longbourn to Jane."

I heard Mr. Bennet sigh in apparent frustration, before he continued.

"There are two problems with your thinking Mrs. Collins. The first is that should I die with no male heirs, Longbourn will have to be _split evenly_ between my daughters. English law is very clear on that, so unless I want the estate broken up to a size that could not even survive, let alone support your sisters; I must leave only a single heir. Do you truly believe your sisters will all or even mostly be married well within the next year or two, considering Lydia's shame?"

Her reply was even more disheartening, "Only if you strangle your wife in her sleep"

I thought I could practically hear Mr. Bennet grinding his teeth at the heartlessness of the reply, before continuing.

"There is an even worse problem. It turns out that Mr. Collins is not the very last living distant male relative. There is one more even more distant relative who descendants through my great grandfather. Since the entail ends with this generation, the next master could not only throw the Bennets out into the hedgerows without a thought, but he could sell the estate and gamble all the proceeds away if so chose. Your sisters would have nothing at all. I am only a life tenant and very constrained in what I may do. The next master will be an owner and may do just as he pleases."

I immediately comprehended that the old man was playing on Elizabeth's sympathies for her sisters mercilessly, and was sorely tempted to call the man out myself; but I had to admit he was at least correct on the points of law.

Finally with a resigned sigh, I heard Elizabeth ask, "Who is this mysterious heir that you will no doubt chain one of your other daughters to?"

Once again, I could not even breathe as I heard the old man say, "He is not a man willing to marry a Bennet, I'm afraid."

" ** _His name_**?"

"George Wickham"


	2. Desperation

Elizabeth gasped in shock as I mostly expected, but then schooled herself into a mask of iron in amazingly short order, and at the moment she seemed quite prepared to murder me on the spot. My Lizzy had never been so vindictive before, and she was the cleverest of my daughters so surely she would have worked out that this was the only way to save the family! How could she hold this marriage against me with _such_ venom? Certainly I could have done better by my girls, but I had at least given her a good living and she was to be mistress of Longbourn and well secured for life.

Since the reaper made his first warning visit the night of the Netherfield ball I knew my days were numbered, but I had never told anyone. Perhaps she would not hate me so much had I confided in her, but it seemed too late now. Whatever my faults, on the very next day after that cursed ball, in one fell swoop, I secured a future for all my girls; yet this daughter had no appreciation at all for how much it would affect her mother and sisters.

Certainly Collins was a silly man, but every man these girls were likely to meet was silly and ignorant, so why was he any worse than the next? A clever girl like Lizzy could certainly manage the sod. On the other hand, this ignorant girl might _think_ she preferred poverty to Collins, but only because she had not the slightest idea what poverty _really_ looked like. Whether Collins might have been better off with Mary or another daughter was immaterial. He asked for Elizabeth, due to my silly and ignorant wife's machinations, and with very limited choices I did my best.

After the events at that hated ball in Netherfield, at least Elizabeth certainly had no more illusions about her former favorite, Wickham, or his spiritual brothers Bingley and Darcy. They had all shown their true colors when it came right down to it. Shaking my head a bit to gather my wits, I came back to the present to deal with my recalcitrant daughter.

Elizabeth did not relent in the least. I could feel hatred pouring off her like flames, but I had to be steady to my purpose if I was to prevent utter ruin of the family. I assumed I would have to talk about my failings as a father with my maker at another time, but for now I had things that must be done, unpleasant as they may be. Now was not the time to show weakness.

Elizabeth asked too casually, "Has he tried to ruin anybody else besides Mary King and Lydia, or run up even more debts?"

I replied with the mildest tone I could, knowing she was looking at me murderously.

"Nobody knows where he is; but make no mistake; should he live when he inherits he will have what he thinks is a justifiable revenge on the Bennets. Since Mary was the one to stop his supposed elopement with Lydia, I do not think he will look on your sisters favorably. Mary saved Lydia's life, but your sisters are all diminished by what gossip we could not contain. Even should I locate the man and have him taken to debtors' prison, he could get out easily with the proceeds from inheriting Longbourn. Even if he has been transported or emigrated, he could eventually come back to make a claim. He is a threat to the entire Bennet family, and even the entire community where you spent most of your life. Longbourn would not survive a fortnight after his inheritance, and much of Meryton might collapse soon after."

I expected that to reach the girl, but I still may as well have been talking to a statue for all the reaction I got aside from the open hostility, which she should well have outgrown by now. She acted as if she were the first woman in history to have an arranged marriage for the benefit of her family, or as if I had matched her with some terrible man instead of just a bumbling fool. If _Jane_ could not even secure a match in Meryton, what chance did any of the other girls have?

Elizabeth asked with much more hostility than I ever imagined she possessed, "Why are you here Bennet? How do you expect me to correct this problem of _your_ creation once again? I have already been forced to sacrifice my own life to your indolence; what more do you have the gall to ask of me?"

So, not even the courtesy of calling me mister, let alone father. I was well and truly on her bad side, and my next demand would be even more unpalatable, but I would not see my family be tossed into the hedgerows because she was missish. It was time for her to do her duty.

 _"You must bear a son!"_

Her countenance was still hostile, but now contained what looked like a trace of grim amusement in it. Nobody who did not know her intimately would see it, but it was there and I doubted it was to my benefit. Her response was the worst I could imagine.

"Well, Bennet! That is unlikely in the extreme. My marriage remains unconsummated, and with Mr. Collins'…er… condition, it shall remain so, as his ability to perform his part of the process no longer… er… functions."

At that point, I was shocked beyond belief. Never in my worst and most pessimistic thoughts had I entertained that possibility. I was alarmed in the extreme at her assertion, and also disturbed by the casual way she discussed it, as if talking about the weather or her poultry. To deny her duty to her husband and her family for a year was beyond the pale. Had she no sense of familial duty at all?

It took me a moment to come to myself enough to ask, "How is that possible, after nearly a year of marriage?"

I nearly held my breath awaiting her reply, and when it came, it carried even a harder edge than what came before. She actually chuckled, apparently in grim amusement, without the slightest hint of the daughter who was not made for unhappiness. Her reply set me back on my heels and outright broke my heart.

"When you forced me into this marriage, did you notice I did not even speak the vows. Mr. Collins and Mrs. Bennet took it upon themselves to say the words for me, and the parson just let it stand. I was apparently with the two worst supposedly 'men of god' in Christendom. You sir and your wife and the law promised me to that hideous man, but _I did not_. I spoke no vows. Had you not restrained me to the house and isolated me from my sisters those few weeks before the wedding, I should have run away."

Once again the whingeing about an arranged marriage was getting on my nerves, and I felt it was time to move things forward as my time was in fact running short. I had not really heard the goings on she alluded to as I was sitting in the pew feeling like I would not survive the ceremony, let alone another day, but I would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

"What is done is done, but I am most curious to know _how_ you avoided your marital duties for an entire year? I thought I taught you better."

Now I heard an iron-grated chuckle that sounded somewhat… boastful.

"No Bennet, neither you nor your wife taught me anything useful. What use is a classical education in a place like this? A Viking education would have been more useful."

She stared at me until I was forced to look away, and continued her tale.

"The first month I simply told the idiot that I had my courses. Stupid man did not even know how such things worked, and just bumbled along. The second month, I found that every time he came to me he could be _dissuaded_ by ridicule. I feel no need to spare the feelings of a man who will take a wife by force; and make no mistake; he knew what he was about. He liked to gloat nearly constantly about having secured such a spirited woman, and the enjoyment he would receive from bringing her to heel. Those thoughts even replaced speaking about his patroness those first months. However, his er… ardor could not stand up to my words."

She paused momentarily, seemingly not intending to continue, so I prompted her, "The third month?"

With that she locked eyes with me and seemed to be taking my measure, or possibly working out the right words, but finally she continued.

"The third month, he came at me with a birch rod. He caught me unaware and without warning in the parlor and simply laid to without a word and without allowing me to defend myself. He beat me with all the frustrations of his failed and miserably unsuccessful life, going all the way back to his drunkard father and working his way up to my unambiguous refusal which you overruled and my merciless belittling. He beat my backside. He beat my legs. He beat me everywhere he could think to beat me that was not visible. He left _scars_ on my back and my legs and my breasts _which are still there_. You should try a birch rod on a bare nipple Bennet. It might teach you something."

If she wished to shame and humble me, she had certainly done that. I felt pain radiating out along my arm that was near to killing me. The physician said that was one of the signs of the end coming; something to do with my heart. It would be a supreme irony if she killed me on the side of the road in Kent with nothing but her tongue. Not quite finished, she continued.

"I have scars, Bennet. _Permanent_ scars. It took me ten days to get out of bed with help from a servant, and two weeks before I could walk from my chamber to the parlor. It took three weeks before I could use the necessary on my own, and at that point he gave me an ultimatum of one more week before he would take what was his to take.

She paused momentarily, and then continued.

"A week later, I lay in bed when he came to me, but I was not to be owned by him, or you or anybody. I decided I was my own person and I would die before I submitted. Both of you could well be Wickham's brothers. You all think about women the same way. I continued to dissuade him with the ridicule that was his due, but that was only a temporary solution, as his fists became his next tool of choice, and I lost teeth, and spent another three weeks in bed."

I felt the pain increasing and thought I may well be done for, but Elizabeth was not yet finished. She had quit looking at me, and seemed to be staring inside more than anything. The next part came out as a whisper.

"The next time he came at me with his birch rod in the parlor a month later, he again insisted that my education was incomplete, and made several disparaging remarks about how I was raised, since I did not even know the bare basics of wifely duty and obedience. I replied that _his education was far from adequate_ as well."

Fearing to know the answer, I prompted her with, "And"

Still looking deep inside some memory, she answered without any inflection whatsoever, as if she were already dead.

"And I gave him the education he seems to have missed at his father's knee. The first lesson was the relative efficacy of fire irons versus birch rods. Birch rods burn very prettily with a light grayish bluish smoke. _Fire irons do not_! They do seem however to be effective in modifying behavior, and they can leave their own marks if you leave them in the fire long enough before use."

The very idea that either she was capable of such violence, or that she felt it was either required or justified filled me with horror, while my daughter just looked at the ground and finished her tale.

"I did not kill him, though it was a very near thing. I did not break any bones, and the brand I left on his back side was only big enough to remind him of his folly, but I did carry my point."

She paused again, then continued, "After that, I took to carrying a knife on my person at all times, even in bed, and indicated to him that the next time he laid a hand on me, I would at the very least finish any hopes he had for relations with _any_ woman, and more likely end any hopes for relations with his next meal. Since that time, I never spoke another word to him until he took his fever. I am assured the fever had nothing to do with his educational experience, so perhaps it is just an act of some god's vengeance."

At this point I was gasping like a fish, feeling like I was likely to collapse, but I had to ask, "Six months without a single word."

She gave me that hard stony look again and replied, "Do not worry Bennet. There were entirely too many words in the parsonage, but none of them came from me."

I am certain had anybody chanced upon us at that point they would have found me white as a sheet and near to collapse, but I could not bring myself to repent my actions. By Elizabeth's own words it was obvious she caused her own problems by simply refusing to do her duty as a wife. She could have made herself available to him once a week or once a fortnight and ignored him the rest of the time, but she had to have her way. She was a very selfish and stubborn girl.

On reflection, I felt horrified by what had befallen her, but her tale of woe did not change the material fact that my entire family was at risk because she would not do her duty. We could apportion the blame all we wanted, but in the end, she must be brought to the point. Too much depended on it.

I gave her a moment to move out of her memories, and as gently as I could, tried to carry my point.

"I am sorry for your trials, Mrs. Collins. I truly am, but the fact remains that we need an heir. I will not see all of Meryton and the estate of the Bennet family for three hundred years destroyed."

She gave another grim chuckle, almost a caricature of her former happy laugh and asked, "You should have thought of that when Jane was born, or at the very least, when Lydia was born, but I see you prefer to make others pay for your indolence. Tell me Bennet, _how do you propose I produce this mythical son_ without a functioning husband? I presume with five daughters you have some basic idea of the mechanics involved, although how you managed to perform the act with that horrid woman five times is beyond me?"

So, she was unhappy with her mother and filled with anger, bitterness and spite now. Nothing new there! I was unhappy with her mother, who could have easily solved this problem a year ago by pointing Collins to Mary, who would have accepted him without qualms, and most certainly would have done her duty rather than practically murdering her lawful husband. However, I was not prepared at that point to let Elizabeth destroy us while wallowing in her misery. Of course, since she had never actually consummated the marriage, and she had the silliest mother in England, maybe she did not even understand the process, so I asked, "I understand the process completely. Do you?"

She sighed in exasperation before replying.

"Yes, I do. I took it upon myself to learn… not that you or your heinous wife took the trouble to educate me, but your wife was never the only woman I knew, and I loathe ignorance. I swore when I left, I would not produce an heir, so I took pains to understand what was involved in detail. I see nothing in my new situation to change that. With Mr. Collins incapacitated, it seems a moot point anyway."

I wondered where she had gotten so dense and replied, "Not necessarily."

I watched her intensely to see if the obvious answer would occur to her on her own, but she was apparently unable or unwilling or perhaps just too naïve or honorable to come up with it on her own. If she hated me before she would doubly hate me now, but it had to be done.

"Mrs. Collins, your son need not be Mr. Collins _natural_ son. All you need do is deliver _any son_ before ten months after Mr. Collins death, and it will be legally his. This you can do."

I suspected the sheer unadulterated effrontery of the suggestion would shock her, but she seemed to be quite impossible to shock these days. She let out another grim chuckle, and made her reply.

"And _what_ , pray tell, do you think will induce me to do this. Even should I choose to bear a child with some disconnected male, which should be easy enough since men seem to be mostly indistinguishable from goats; you of all people should understand a son is not guaranteed. The chances of a son are less than half."

As if the girl had the right to lecture me on producing sons! However, I had not come this far to quit, and replied, "You should have the year or two that Collins is likely to live plus ten months. That is most likely over two years, which should be enough time for two children. That makes the chances three in four, and you will make the effort."

She just laughed mirthlessly at what I supposed she thought of as my stupidity.

"You overestimate the reliability of the process. You always were a man who thought you were smarter than you actually are. There is about a one in five chance with any pregnancy I shall lose it before it even quickens. Another one in thirty I will lose it later before confinement. There is a one in thirty chance that I will die in childbirth or the babe will. If I do succeed, there is a one in two chance any live birth will be male. The chance of dying in childbirth is even higher if I have more than one child every two years, and there would be no chance at all of a second child without immediately attaching a wet nurse to the first. That all means my chance of delivering a male heir with two attempted pregnancies over two to three years is probably about even at best, and the chances of either myself or one of the babes dying in the process is not trifling."

Steeling my resolve, I replied, "Nevertheless, you will attempt it!"

She sounded even harder now, and I thought I might want to keep in mind that she had _dissuaded_ her husband with fire irons and apparently branded him, so she may not be a woman to be trifled with.

She asked, "And again, why do you think I will help you when you have so spectacularly abused me? What do I care about Longbourn, and I personally think the hedgerows is exactly where your wife belongs."

Feeling desperate, I finally played my very last bargaining chip, though it broke my heart to do so.

"If you do not, I will simply start marrying your sisters off to whoever suits me. Do not think Mr. Collins is the only less than ideal husband in England? I will not have them sitting at Longbourn when and if Wickham comes to claim it."

That finally broke through her reserves, and she let out a strangled gasp, as I knew she must. I thought I would hate myself for that bit of deception for all of the days left to me, but I was not to be stopped at this point. Too much depended on Elizabeth being brought to the point.

I stood with baited breath to see what she would do. If she decided to send me packing, I would have very little recourse. I had to believe she thought I would choose bad husbands, because it was so desperately important for her to try, and I just hoped she would not manage to ascertain that I would never do such a thing. Oh, marry them off I would, but to the best farmers and merchants I could find; but I could not let her know that.

I saw her thinking furiously for a good ten minutes while I waited as patiently as I could, and she finally came to a decision.

"Very well, Bennet. I will offer you a bargain. In fact, I will generously offer you a choice."

Now was not the time for bargains and I steeled myself to reply with as much strength as I could, "You are not in a position to be making demands!"

"Nevertheless, you will bargain or get back in your carriage! You are fortunate I am offering you any choice at all."

Seeing little recourse if she became too stubborn, I finally nodded for her to present her choices.

"Very well, here is the first bargain I will offer…"

She took a deep breath and began, "Firstly, I will make every possible effort to deliver an heir, and I will keep trying until there is no possibility of success. In exchange, you will reduce your wife's allowance by three quarters and dedicate the bulk to my use for living expenses should my first child be born female; starting tomorrow. I will expect the first six months in advance. In addition, you will immediately set aside a £2,000 dowry for the same purpose, _in cash_. You will sell some of your precious books if need be. This must be legally binding, and under Uncle Gardiner's control. Should I have a second daughter, she will receive the same."

I wondered where she got the temerity to ask so much for simply doing her duty as a wife and daughter, and replied, "You ask a great deal!"

Apparently not impressed, she said, "Not really. I ask you for the proceeds gained by you sitting in your library drinking port and doing nothing for one year, while you agree to me going to great pain and significant risk to my life at least once and more likely twice, alone, likely succeeded by a life of poverty, raising one or two bastards who will be looked down on by society when their origin gets out, which it inevitably will. You ask me to do all this, simply to assuage your greed and laziness. I could just as easily wait for you to die, and then sell off every piece of Longbourn that's not nailed down to support myself and my sisters when Mr. Collins dies. You are not looking so robust at the moment. Will you even survive the trip back?"

She stared at me now, perhaps daring me to disagree, before continuing, "Be glad I offer such generous terms Bennet, but I am not finished yet."

She paused another moment, then said, "Secondly, you will send all of my sisters to me in any order _I choose_ for three months each, and I will attempt to find husbands for them. You will send me their pin money for the next year in advance, and you will agree _in advance_ , and _in writing_ that you will approve _any_ match I make. In fact, you will delegate the responsibility for signing any marriage settlements to Uncle Gardiner, and any prospective husbands are to be approved by him, and need not meet you at all."

This was all entirely too much, and I now felt the pain in my arm moving to my chest. This interview needed to be concluded soon. I thought to show some strength of position, and said, "You ask entirely too much! I will not be importuned in this way!"

She just smirked and said, "Very well! Goodbye Bennet!"

That nearly had me undone, but the look on her face convinced me she would not be worked upon. She was so angry I could see her face turning white and a vein pulsing on her forehead. Thinking to calm things down, I asked, "Wait! What is your second proposal? You said you would offer a choice."

There was a significant pause, while I held my breath in anticipation. When my favorite daughter finally did speak, it was with a resigned tone of sadness, but also the casual air of one making a simple statement of fact. She had become extremely hard edged within the last year. Her reply caught me completely off guard.

"I shall stop caring for Mr. Collins and he will be dead within the week. I only care for him now so I can collect his living, but nobody will question his early demise. You are welcome to hunt down Wickham and kill him, or do just as you please. I suggest you take my first offer and begone, for it is not entirely impossible that I may simply decide to cut your throat right here and now, and wait for the magistrate. I still carry my knife everywhere I go."

I gasped at the heartlessness of the statement, and oddly enough thought I heard someone else gasp as well but it was hard to tell. Elizabeth was apparently giving me the message that she was _not_ a woman to be importuned, and considering I was not entirely certain she was not deadly serious, I sighed in defeat and accepted her terms.

"Very well, I agree. Which daughter do you want first?"

Having won her point, she became all business.

"Send Jane with all of the signed documents, the money for my first child and statements from Uncle Gardiner. Based on my current cycles, you have three weeks."

I answered in resignation, "All right. It shall be as you say."

With that, I turned around and creaked back into the carriage, not at all certain I would even survive the trip back to Longbourn. The die was cast, and I just hoped I could see it through. My daughters were to pay the price for my indolence of the last twenty‑odd years, but there was aught to do about it now except carry forward.

With fifty miles of road between myself and home, I simply had to get back and hope Elizabeth would do her duty, and perhaps in another fifty years, she might either forgive me or at least find some happiness with her next husband. A pretty young widow and mother to the heir to Longbourn would be a good catch, and if she managed to produce the heir I thought things might still work out.

As I settled into the carriage, she was still looking at me as she had from the beginning, either with great sadness or more likely hatred, contempt and disappointment. Surprisingly, she raised her voice just as I left, but she was talking to someone else. I had no idea why she did not wait a minute for me to be gone. Perhaps she wanted me to hear, or perhaps she just did not care anymore.

She said, "Mr. Darcy, I presume since you cannot refrain from eavesdropping, you will at least restrain yourself from gossip?"

Quickly glancing out the window, I could just see the young man standing near the corner of the parsonage, well‑hidden but in a place where he could hear the entire conversation and could have seen me. I assumed he had accidentally stumbled on the conversation and could not tear himself away; not that surprising when it was conducted in the lane. He looked as if he was watching every bit of truth and beauty and light in the world being crushed in front of his eyes, which may have been close to the truth.

He quickly answered, "You may depend on my discretion."

Elizabeth replied in an offhand way, "Thank you", and turned back to the parsonage; apparently done with the both of use.

I could see what appeared to be a look of pain on his face, the first sign of real emotion I had ever seen from the gentleman. Perhaps it was pain, or perhaps a year after his sojourn in Hertfordshire, he was just sad to reflect that a woman felt a need to _thank him_ for simply agreeing to act in a slightly more gentlemanlike manner.

I hoped the idea kept him up at night. He was _not_ a friend to the Bennets, and I could only hope he would stay away from Elizabeth, not that she would ever again afford me the honor of calling her that.

I began and eventually ended the interminable fifty miles of road with weeping.


	3. Poultry

"Good day, Mrs. Collins"

 _I so hate that name_! But, at least if nothing else, I had learned to hide all my reactions in the previous year. When I flinched over the title, anyone who did not know me extremely well would see nothing amiss, or anything at all for that matter. A year as a parson's wife had at the very least taught me to be inscrutable, and I doubted even Jane or the infamous Mr. Darcy could hold a candle to me in that regard. I had determined early on that _nobody_ would ever know of my struggles. In our society, my father and Mr. Collins committed the crimes, but should their actions become known, _I would suffer the shame and censure_. I would be considered a bad wife, a bad daughter, a frigid woman, undutiful, a harridan and all the other accolades our society would heap on a woman who did not act like a not particularly bright sheep. So no, I hated the name but determined that nobody would ever know.

It was absolutely certain Mr. Darcy was not in that select group of people who knew me well, so I had no need to worry about his reaction. Of course, after that first year I doubted anyone could be counted to know me well. My sisters may have known who I once was, but that happy carefree person who laughed was long dead and buried.

I felt that since I was feeding my poultry with a basket of grain on my hip, I could be excused from curtseying or extending any other normal civilities; not that I would be inclined to do so anyway. I really did not care in the least what Mr. Darcy thought. I had been quite satisfied to not see him in the two days after his ungentlemanly bout of eavesdropping except for a brief sighting in church the pervious days. In fact, I was quite looking forward to not seeing him in the next two days as well; or ever again for that matter.

I did however suppose I at least had to acknowledge him, no matter how little inclined I was to do so, since two of my chickens were currently pecking at his bright and shiny boots that probably cost more than my household accounts for a year. I looked at him with no particular emotion at all. Nothing good could come of associating with him, but he _was_ the nephew of my patroness, so I did at least have to speak to him minimally. I need not antagonize him, but I need not encourage him either.

"Mr. Darcy"

I assumed he had something to say, and I assumed it would be something critical as usual. _I hoped rather than believed_ he would just say his piece and leave.

He looked at me more intently than I cared for, and said, "I came to apologize."

 _That surprised me!_ Of course, given nearly all of my previous dealings with members of the male sex, I would have been more concerned if he did something that did _not_ surprise. Calculating that a short answer would get rid of him sooner than ignoring him, I exerted myself to be civil.

"There is no need Mr. Darcy. If I conduct my business in the lane, I deserve what I get, and while you were technically on the church's property rather than your aunt's, it is close enough to be of little concern. Should you feel some obsessive need for absolution, you may consider yourself fully acquitted, so long as you keep my confidence. You have done your duty. Goodbye, sir."

With that, I turned back to my poultry, ready to be rid of the man as there was still work to be done, and I had not the slightest inclination to extend the distasteful acquaintance. Considering what he thought of me even before the revelations two days past, it seemed likely he would leave me in peace in short order.

"Mrs. Collins…"

Caught off guard, I flinched slightly again at the use of the name, but was certain he would not have seen it unless he was staring at me like his life depended on it.

He then said something that completely surprised me again, "I beg your pardon, madam! I see that surname pains you."

I wondered how he had done that. Had he resurrected his old practice of staring at me to find fault? Maybe I had more work to do on hiding my reactions if someone like him, who barely knew me, could see through it.

I replied as cordially as I could, just hoping to be done with it, "My apologies, Mr. Darcy. My mask slipped for a moment, but do not fret. It is after all my name, so you have committed no offense."

He seemed a bit dismayed at the casual way I referred to my mask, as if he did not do the same thing all day, every day of his life. He was the only one I had ever known who was as inscrutable as Jane… or myself now. Perhaps he was just embarrassed.

I was a bit surprised when he seemed to be treading carefully, as if he actually cared what I thought, and asked, "Would you prefer I use another form of address?"

By now, I was back to my stony disposition that was not to be shaken. He had caught me off guard twice, but would not do so again! I replied as casually as I could.

"It is of no importance, Mr. Darcy. I can bear it for the remaining five minutes of our acquaintance. Please say what you have to say and leave before word gets out of your visit. I am quite far enough in Lady Catherine's brown books already, and I may need her help soon."

He seemed quite distressed by that. I assumed he did not countenance me asking Lady Catherine for help in anything, but I was surprised by his reaction. To tell the truth, after Hertfordshire, I was surprised to see any reaction at all on his face.

True to form, he just _had to know_ more of my business, probably trying to protect his aunt, as if she needed or desired it. He asked, "Why will you need her help?" almost as if it were his business.

Politeness was not working to get rid of the insufferable man, so I decided to just give him the truth, as I was tired of trying to figure out what he wanted. Perhaps if I offended him enough, he would leave.

"As you no doubt heard, I have four sisters to find husbands for, and Lady Catherine likes to be of use. If I get desperate, I may go crawling to her for help. She loves to be right, and despises me for ignoring her almost entirely for the past year. If I give her something to gloat about, she will help me; but _not_ if she becomes aware of your presence here, which will distress her. Now if we are done, I really have things to do Mr. Darcy, so I bid you good day."

Something about that seemed to pain him, so I surmised perhaps he was the one who had to work on his mask. I started to turn back to my work and he surprised me again by saying, "I would like to offer my help."

I imagine he was having some sport with me, trying to see how much he could discompose me, but I doubt he got much that time. I simply replied as politely as I could, "I thank you for the offer sir, but I shall manage my own affairs."

Apparently, he was more stubborn than I thought, as he tried once again, "Please, Mrs…. Elizabeth. I truly would like to assist you."

With my mask firmly in place, I decided I probably had not been uncivil enough, so I tried another tack. I replied, "Mr. Darcy the Smyth estate is five miles north. The Jones estate is ten miles east. Lord Mawbry has an estate just to the south. They will all have shooting this time of year. Please relieve your boredom elsewhere."

Just in case that was not clear enough, I turned my back on him and returned to spreading my grain. At least that was something that would fill my belly later, and I assumed talking to my back would be enough to finally make him leave.

He surprised me again by asking softly, in almost a whisper, "May I ask _why_ you refuse my help, but would accept Lady Catherine's?"

Becoming slightly alarmed by his persistence, I decided to finish things once and for all.

"Are we still speaking in confidence, Mr. Darcy?"

"Always", he said, as if I should just naturally trust an eavesdropper.

I replied somewhat impertinently, "Lady Catherine is a bit of a nosy busybody, but I understand her enough to know what she will do. In the end, she will not be able to resist the temptation to extract her pound of flesh. I _trust_ her because I _understand_ her. She could not stand the very idea of me believing her incapable of the task, nor could she stand to fail at something as simple as placing a few ladies with husbands. Giving me my comeuppance will just be the cherry on top. So yes, Mr. Darcy, I do trust her, within limits."

He chewed on that for a few seconds, and asked, "I assume this means you do not trust me?"

With a slight shrug, I simply said, "No sir, I do not. I imagine I should soften that with something like _'I am sorry to say',_ but I no longer care to dissemble simply for politeness sake."

He struggled for perhaps half a minute, looking confused and asked pointedly, "May I ask why?"

Finally starting to lose my carefully controlled temper, I asked, " _Why do you care, Mr. Darcy?_ My trust or lack thereof will in no way affect anything other than your pride, of which you seem to have an adequate supply. Once we finish this conversation we are quite unlikely to ever meet again, so I see little point in the discussion."

His face fell yet again, perhaps not really liking being on the receiving act of someone's indifference, but he seemed a logical enough man to understand such a plain assertion of well-established fact; although to be honest I expected his anger to make a showing sooner or later.

Now that I was looking at him again, he said, "I care what happens to you Elizabeth. Will you not give me at least that?"

So, it was to be Christian names now? I had not given him leave, but perhaps he was more sensible than he seemed. He was going out of his way to avoid either of the surnames I loathed, so I grudgingly had to give him a tiny bit of credit. This bit of impropriety might be his finest moment.

With more charity than I was feeling, I said, "All right, Mr. Darcy, I will give you that. Please just take my word for it that the best thing you can do is return to Rosings and forget this entire episode", and then turned back to my work.

Surprising me yet again, he said, " _Elizabeth, please!_ My cowardice is _screaming_ at me to take you at your word and run, but for once in my life would you allow me to be brave? I have been a selfish being all my life, but let me _just this once_ go beyond that. Will you please tell me _why_ you distrust me so?"

He seemed to be waiting in breathless anticipation, apparently unable to comprehend that anyone could hold a grudge against him.

I sat staring at my pig and my poultry for a few minutes, trying to decide if I should just insist he leave, or give him the honest answer he seemed to crave. In the end, I decided to just put him out of his misery and be done with it, so I told my story to the pig.

"Mr. Darcy, do you know my _very last_ happy memory?"

After a pause sufficient to indicate that he would not guess, I continued, "It was, oddly enough, a year and a day past at Mr. Bingley's ball at Netherfield. After my first two horrible dances with Mr. Collins, which I saw you and Miss Bingley smirking at, I had one with John Lucas. We were old friends with no expectations, and we could just happily enjoy the simple pleasure of a dance done well. That is the very last satisfactory memory I have."

He had the temerity to ask, "You do not consider our dance a happy memory?"

I looked at him and almost could not hold in the tears that were threatening at the very thought of that horrid night, but I was not going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

I asked, "Do you know what justification Bennet gave for forcing this…" I just swept my hand around encompassing the parsonage and my entire life, "… on me?"

He just shook his head, so I continued.

"When I rejected Collins' suit the next day, my former father said, ' _I used to think I had three silly daughters, but now I see I have raised the five stupidest girls in England. You cannot be trusted to make your own decisions.'"_

He looked like he was about to explode, but he simply asked, "Why would he say that?"

I looked at him again. My tears were still threatening, and I had very little strength left to stop them; but I finally decided that if I had to tell _one_ person in the world, it may as well be him. At least I would not have to face him afterward, and it was not as if I had any other confidants.

With little emotion, I said, "My sister Jane fell in love with a very handsome and amiable _rake_ , who abandoned her after assiduously making love to her almost daily for six weeks without even taking his leave. He said he would be gone a few days then disappeared entirely. She got nothing but a nasty letter from his sister. This _rake_ was _your particular friend_ so that does not reflect well on him or you. Then _Wickham_ tried to elope with my fifteen year old sister Lydia the night of the ball, and would have ruined her if Mary had not stumbled upon them. Kitty seemed like she knew about the couple and did nothing. He was yet another rake friend of yours."

I glanced at him briefly, to judge his reaction, and he was staring at me most disconcertingly.

I then continued, "I had previously quite favored Wickham, since he at least had the good grace to refrain from insulting me in the first half‑hour of our acquaintance, and never once called me _'tolerable enough'_ or _'not handsome enough to tempt him'._ When his true nature was revealed; a nature which _you_ could not be bothered to warn us about with anything other than inscrutable riddles; I was seen as just about as stupid as Lydia, and rightly so."

Now he was looking at his own boots, or what was left of them after my chickens were done with them, so I continued.

"When Bennet asked Wickham _why_ he did it; he said it was _because I danced with you_. He claimed the two of you have a long‑standing rivalry, and frequently went after sisters to see who could succeed faster. Most likely he was lying about that just as with everything else, but coupled with _your_ almost universally bad manners, the fact that you clearly and obviously looked down on myself, my sisters and all our neighbors, and the entire Netherfield party's decampment the very next day with nothing but a letter asserting Bingley was courting _your sister_ , the Bennet sisters seemed well and truly unmarriageable; and your party seemed most ungentlemanly, an opinion that your behavior two days ago did not help."

I paused a moment and continued, "A year later, I imagine the rest of my sisters still are unmarriageable, but since our correspondence lacks any depth whatsoever, I am only supposing. I imagine they have had a very trying year of gossip as well. I distrust you sir because you have well and truly _earned_ my distrust!"

Trying to get it all out, I continued, "I believe Bennet suffered an apoplexy or something of the sort, because he changed completely and abruptly from the amiable but neglectful father of my earlier memories to a vengeful and controlling man nearly overnight. He was never the same after that ball, and I have no idea why."

Giving him the hardest stare I was capable of, I continued, "After the ball and Miss Bingley's letter, Mr. Collins proposed marriage. I rejected him _five times_ _in the strongest language possible_ , yet my former father jumped on the offer like a hawk on a hare. Perhaps they did not know _just how bad_ it would be, but he _did know_ Collins or Lady Catherine or both would most likely try to crush my spirit, yet he played his hand for his own comfort, and retired back to his book room. My former mother spent the next three weeks running around the neighborhood crowing about the success of getting one daughter well settled, while I was locked in Longbourn, awaiting my execution. Bennet even kept my sisters away from me before the wedding to try to prevent anything from going wrong; other than the obvious problem of the wrong bride."

Trying to just be done with Mr. Darcy once and for all, with my mask firmly back in place, I delivered my final word; absolutely certain it would send him running.

"Bennet was _only_ right about _one_ thing. I am quite possibly among the stupidest women in England. I have _scars_ Mr. Darcy, in places only a husband should know about; because I _did_ esteem two handsome and amiable rakes despite ample evidence of their true nature, and I _did not_ have the good sense to decline dancing with a man who despised me."

With that, I was exhausted and well and truly done with him. Without a backward glance I walked back to the parsonage, satisfied to be finished once and for all with at least one of my unpleasant acquaintances.


	4. Insistence

"Good afternoon, Elizabeth"

I knew I was pushing my luck using her given name, but it seemed better than either of her despised surnames, and considering the depth of the hole I had dug for myself, I needed to tread carefully.

Elizabeth looked over at me in very clear annoyance. Her mask was in place sufficient to hide all the deeper emotions, but annoyance seemed one that she not averse to showing. She appeared to have been entirely satisfied with my absence the two days after our previous altercation. Her adieu was the type of statement that wars might be fought over. It seemed the ultimate irony that my ungentlemanly behavior and lack of basic good sense a year ago now seemed likely to ruin the lives of at least several people, possibly forever. She looked as if she was satisfied that I had been absent two more days, but would be even more satisfied if I were absent two months or forever. I could imagine with her entirely justified displeasure with Bingley, she wanted her sister to encounter me even less.

She replied with a hard edge to her voice, "Mr. Darcy, I thought all of our business was concluded satisfactorily."

I replied carefully, "Perhaps you were satisfied, but I was not."

She looked at me again, and said, "I was quite satisfied up to around a minute ago, and in five minutes time I will be once again. I remember I once said that there were no two people in the room with less to say to each other, and I do not see that anything has changed aside from your dogged persistence."

I carefully examined her countenance again, and saw nothing but stony silence and more annoyance. The fact that she was not even willing to pretend to civility anymore was not auspicious.

When I paused in my reply, she turned to go, saying, "I have things to do Mr. Darcy, so I trust you can find your way back to Rosings."

Once again unable to come up with anything intelligent, I said, "What will you be doing Mrs. Elizabeth, if you do not mind my asking?"

She paused momentarily and said, "I _do_ mind, as it is not your concern; but I imagine telling you will do no harm. I am married to the worst parson in England, but I am an _excellent_ parson's wife. I have parishioners to visit. I ignore those who disdain being visited by a woman, but there are widows and pensioners who treasure my visits. I have a curate to deliver sermons but he does not have time to visit everyone since he does not have a living. Today I am visiting the widow Hastings, and bringing some preserves to Sargent MacDonald, who has… taught me some useful things and offers me… certain assistance on a daily basis."

I suspect I blanched at what a Sargent might teach a young lady who defended herself with fire irons and knives. Avoiding that particular thought, I asked, "Do those visits make you happy, or at least content?"

She looked at me in some confusion at the pedestrian nature of the conversation, and said, "Misery loves company, sir. But I must take my leave before I become any more maudlin. Goodbye, Mr. Darcy."

With that, she started spreading the last of her grain. I was becoming somewhat accustomed to having her say goodbye with the finality of a hangman's noose, but I had not come this far to be turned aside again.

"Miss Elizabeth, wait! Please!"

She stopped momentarily, but did not face me again.

With one part of my mind I thought I had _one_ last desperate hope to reach her in some small way and possibly start scaling the wall she had built around herself. Another part of my mind knew I was much too stubborn to give up so easily. I had given up one time too many already, and would not be so easily dissuaded in future.

I answered carefully, "I would like one last chance to help you. I have been these two days working on your problem, and I have learned a few things that may be of use."

She made no reply, so I continued.

"Before that though, I owe you an apology… well, actually I owe you many apologies. I am afraid I have been neither a gentleman nor a friend to you, and I would like to try to remedy that. Elizabeth, please! I genuinely would like to help you. Will you at least hear me out?"

Elizabeth stood stock still for several moments, neither looking at me nor moving away. I could not tell if she was taking my offer seriously, trying to get her fiery temper under control, or doing something completely unanticipated. At long last, she answered, "If I hear you out will you _finally_ leave me in peace?"

"You have my word. I know I have given you no good cause to believe me, but you have my word for what it is worth."

I did not think my word was worth all that much to her, but I had to try something.

She at last replied, "Very well. I will hear you out, but not now and not here."

I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding, and said, "I thank you for giving me a chance to redeem myself. I know I have a long way to go before I manage to achieve any level of trust whatsoever, but I will do my best. I agree to your terms which are entirely sensible. I am actually perfectly sanguine about being in your presence and do not care who knows about it, but it would not be ideal for you to be seen with me before you accept my help. I am at your disposal."

Elizabeth thought for a moment, and said, "I will be busy the rest of the afternoon. I would invite you to supper, but I am certain my menu will not be to your standards. Perhaps midday tomorrow?"

Feeling like I had made at least a little bit of progress, I thought he might be able to at least put the tiniest bit of humor in the situation, so I foolishly said, "I am not as fastidious as you may think. What is on the menu?"

Once again I saw a frown appear and disappear almost too fast to see. I seemed to be sticking my foot in my mouth more often than not, so I said, "I am sorry. Did that make you uncomfortable in some way?"

She blew out a breath and said, "Do not worry. It just reminded me of something."

I asked, "Would you share it?"

Elizabeth looked at me with the tiniest hint of either mischievousness or malice, and said, "That was the first thing I ever heard about you… your fastidiousness. Mr. Bingley said he _would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom_ at the first assembly you attended, because you would not dance with any of the Meryton ladies. That was just before you…"

All of a sudden, the rest of that ill‑fated conversation came back into my mind as if I had participated in it last night instead of over a year ago, and my heart dropped through my shoes. If she heard that, she must have heard… Now I remembered her words from two days ago about _handsome enough_. They had not sunk in as repetitions of my own words back to me. What a fool I was.

She apparently decided to quit rubbing salt in the wound, as she stopped speaking mid‑word, and said, "My apologies, Mr. Darcy. You are trying to be civil so I will quit harping about that assembly."

I was at that point I am sure I was as red as my cousin's Calvary coat, and I very carefully said, "I now remember what I said after that, and I owe you a thousand apologies for it, though that be insufficient. Did that first insult lay the foundation for your dislike of me?"

She just looked at the ground, and said, "Do not concern yourself, sir. You simply echoed what my former mother said, so it was not news to me. It did however make it quite easy to believe all the things Wickham said about you, probably half lies, but all easy enough to believe. Consider it forgotten."

I replied in quite some alarm, " _Do not excuse my abhorrent behavior_ , Mrs. Elizabeth! I deserve whatever censure you dish out, and more besides. Did you truly dislike me when we were in Hertfordshire?"

She could not look at me, but she at last nodded her head and said, "Yes, I did. I still do."

Once again I wanted to crawl in a hole and die, but said, "I am afraid, that is yet another of the many things I must apologize for. It was rude, unkind and most assuredly untrue. I had not even looked at you, and it was not long before I believed you are the handsomest woman of my acquaintance."

She just shrugged and said, "Little good it did me! In the end, it really matters not, but I accept your apology and will not bring it up again."

At that moment I thought he had a lot more apologizing to do, but hoped to simply not step in any more holes for a few minutes. Wanting to change the subject, I asked as carefully as I could, "What is on the menu for supper?"

She seemed to be satisfied with no longer discussing the past, and said, "Rosemary chicken and potatoes."

Shuffling my feet a bit, I sheepishly said, "If that was a genuine offer for supper and not just an excuse to be rid of me until tomorrow, I accept with gratitude. If you prefer to wait, I will agree to that as well. I am truly at your disposal."

Elizabeth examined my countenance for a moment, not showing any hint of what she was thinking. Finally, she simply nodded her head.

A moment later I was quite startled when she abruptly dropped from sight so fast I could scarcely see the movement, and the next thing I knew she was back with a chicken grasped in her hand. She expertly wrung its neck and then took a few steps to a chopping block. Within seconds, she had a knife in her hand that I had seen not the slightest hint of, and the chicken's head was off and tossed over the fence to the pig along with a few more inedible bits. A minute later she had expertly gutted it, throwing the entrails into a stone bowl. She started plucking it while I stood frozen in surprise.

A few minutes later, she pointed to a small kitchen garden and said with the barest hint of impertinence, "Since you are a gentleman farmer, perhaps you can manage to dig up three potatoes over there. The spade is by the fence, and the rosemary is in the far corner."

Happy to have something to do outside of her glare, I hopped to it. I did not feel this was the exact time to tell her I was no stranger to the spade, and I was more than an idle farmer. By the time I came back, she was done with the chicken.

In my usual unwise fashion, I asked, "Why does the cook not do that?"

She looked back at me with no expression whatsoever that I could detect, and said, "I have no cook. You must trust me not to poison you."

I was perplexed by that, but once again tried to engage her in a bit of teasing, I said, "Are you likely to poison me?"

She just shrugged and said, "Not likely. The knife is more reliable."

From her countenance I still could not tell if it was teasing or simply a rational evaluation of killing methods, and decided the subject was best closed for the moment. I had to remember that she had told me straight out that she had never liked me, not ten minutes before. Right now I thought I would perfectly well kill to get just one of her teasing smiles directed at me; or really at anybody. However, I had to reign in my ambition. A baby did not run its first day, particularly when it had crawled into the fire beforehand. For the moment I was as satisfied with my position as I had any right to be. After all, she had only told me to leave her sight forever a half dozen times so far today.

I did think that I could not walk on eggshells forever, so I asked, "May I ask why there is no cook? I thought this was a good living."

She answered simply, as if discussing the contents of her workbasket, "I have no servants at all. I did before Collins became ill, but I discharged them all with a severance and good references."

Curiously, I asked, "If it is not prying too much, will you tell me why?"

She seemed more annoyed at the need to explain herself than with the lack of servants, and said, "Because my father did not make Collins settle a farthing on me. When he dies, I will have only what I have saved so will probably enter service of some kind. Each shilling I save might be the shilling that keeps me from starving or buys medicine or coach fare to leave if things become difficult. _That_ is why I refuse to pay someone to do something I can perfectly well do myself. I thought I had one or two years to save some reserves. Now, there is a chance I will be effectively mistress of Longbourn, but the chances are just as good that I will be dead or trying to keep two baby girls from starving instead of just myself."

She paused and continued, "I have one companion, Mrs. Hewes. She worked downstairs at Rosings for thirty years, but when she could not do her work anymore, she was cast out with no pension. She is teaching me how to cook and clean efficiently, and I give her a roof over her head and bread on her table. We are content."

She looked at me again with her usual stone face. I thought she probably expected some censure from me or at least disappointment. I naturally did not feel inclined to oblige her, and simply said, "A very sensible argument, but I have no intention of allowing that fate."

She simply shrugged, and said, "Six o'clock"

As she turned around to leave, I asked, "Will you object if I set up a pension for Mrs. Hewes since my aunt seems to have neglected to?"

She replied, "I believe she would appreciate that, but she will probably continue to live with me at least for a time."

"Naturally"

She looked at me for the first time in recent memory as if he might not be a monster, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Six o'clock. We do not dress for supper. Please be discreet."

Once again, she had thanked me for doing the most basic duties of a gentleman, and she had not even bothered asking my aunt; probably surmising it was a lost cause. I thought her opinion must be so low that I would have a very long hill to climb to gain her esteem, if it could even be done, but at least I had made a start; and if nothing else, I could be stubborn when it suited me.


	5. Supper

I heard the bell on the door ring as I entered the parsonage, and looked around the entryway. I was not expecting any servants, so I took off my own coat, hat and gloves almost as if I were a grown man. I looked around for a place to put them, and just hung them on a rack I saw near the door.

Just as I hung them up, Elizabeth came through the door, and I thought she never looked lovelier. She was wearing a practical dress just like the one she had been feeding the poultry in, but it looked newer and tidier, though she still retained her apron. It buttoned up the front like most working women's dresses so she could dress herself without any fuss. Her hair was done up in a simple bun and covered with a lace mob cap. I noticed she seemed to have cut off quite a bit of her hair, to make it easier to manage I surmised. I amused myself for just a moment thinking she either wore the newer dress to dine, or she had dressed to impress, but then I came to my senses. It was probably just the dress she wore for supper every night. If she wanted to dress like the gentlewoman she was, she should still have all the clothes she had before she left Hertfordshire; or would she? In the despondency of a forced marriage, she may well have given all her clothes to her sisters, for all I knew. Perhaps it was best not to make assumptions. Considering her opinion of me, I would not have been surprised if she hunted down her oldest and rattiest dress with petticoats six inches deep in mud just to spite me.

Over the previous several days, I had spent considerable time trying to decide when to come clean about my involvement in Bingley's abandonment of Jane Bennet. Elizabeth had quite clearly shown that the eldest Miss Bennet had real feelings for my friend, as well as a perfectly reasonable expectation of an offer. My rational belief that her heart was unattached was clearly in error. On the other hand, subsequent facts had proven beyond a doubt that nothing would have dissuaded the Bennet parents from forcing a match on their daughter even without affection… nay, without even a modicum of esteem. They did not even seem to require all that much fortune as I could see with Elizabeth.

In the end, it did truly seem that I _had_ been wrong, but based on what I could see at the time, I truly believed my desire to protect my friend from a loveless marriage was done for the best. The Bennets, particularly Mrs. Bennet, must own their share of the blame. My one _true_ regret was my knowledge that simply waiting a week, or taking proper leave would have been the truly gentlemanly thing to do, and we both failed at it. Bingley and I both carried the stink of rank conduct, and who knows what Caroline wrote in that letter Elizabeth referred to, but knowing her, it was probably horrific. We both carried our fair share of guilt, and amazingly, I had not even considered what the gossip would do the Bennets after our abrupt departure.

The only question now was when to disclose my involvement, for disclose it I must if I was to have any hope of even friendship with Elizabeth, let alone… well, best not think too far out. The timing was important. Too soon and I would be tossed from the parsonage unceremoniously on whatever was left of my head. Too late, and I would lose any esteem I may have laboriously garnered. For the moment, I decided to hold my council, but knew my grace period would be short lived.

I also had to sooner or later broach the subject of whether the two could be reunited, or if Miss Bennet was even interested. Bingley was still unattached and I knew his heart could be reengaged in a matter of minutes, but had no idea how the eldest felt. I sincerely hoped the other Bennet sisters did not carry knives. Forgiving such behavior would be most difficult, but if any woman could do it, I imagine Jane Bennet was the one.

Elizabeth was still wearing her stony mask, which I considered an improvement, since I had been in the parsonage for going on two minutes and she had not asked me to leave yet.

Apparently not in the mood for ceremony, she just said, "This way, Mr. Darcy", before turning to lead through the door into what appeared to be the parlor. It had a small table set just big enough for two. I walked by a dining room that was dark and had the door closed. Looking around, I saw a stairway to the right that seemed to be covered with quilts.

Elizabeth noted my gaze and said without the slightest hint of the defensiveness, "Heating rooms takes coal, Mr. Darcy. Coal costs money and has to be laboriously carried up the stairs to each room. I am not destitute, but I choose not to spend my time and money heating rooms I do not occupy. Mrs. Hewes and I sleep in the front sitting room Mr. Collins once used to stalk the lanes. I keep Mr. Collins in his book room, and Sargent MacDonald comes by a few times a day to see to his needs in exchange for some of my poultry, breakfast every day and a few other meals each week; although I suspect he does it more for the society than anything else."

She had not even slowed down her pace, so I was perforce prevented from making any reply, which was no doubt for the best. I followed her downstairs to a neat and tidy kitchen. Everything was as clean and orderly as Pemberley's kitchen with a staff of ten. There was a copper washtub in the corner, which seemed quite sensible since the water would have to be heated in the kitchen. What point in going somewhere else to bathe with two women and one half-corpse in the house? Looking around I was impressed, and had to admit that however unusual I might find her decisions, I had yet to encounter a single one that did not make perfect sense. I suspected Elizabeth still expected me to show some form of disapprobation, but that was just a guess, and if that was her goal; she was destined for disappointment.

Elizabeth reached over to open the oven, and taking a towel from the hearth, she reached in to remove the chicken. She set it on a side table, then removed the potatoes as well, dumped them in a small bowel, and handed it to me, along with a pitcher of water and a bowel of butter. Then she simply nodded to the door indicating I should return to the parlor. I saw what looked like a pie on the sideboard, and went back upstairs as instructed, while she removed her apron, folded it neatly and then followed with the chicken and a basket of bread.

As we sat to table Elizabeth indicated I should carve and serve, so I did. I noticed she had a particular stillness that had not been there before. I could well remember every interaction with her, but could not remember a single time back in Hertfordshire when she did not seem just ready to explode with delight or mischievousness. Caroline Bingley would chide and insult her, and she would just show a hint of laughter in her eyes and say something the woman could not understand. I thought back in Netherfield she would deliberately pick the opposite side of an argument with me just for amusement, but those mannerisms were long gone; and with hindsight I had to admit at the time she occasionally treated me as a slightly more intelligent version of Caroline.

I had to admit to myself that I was grave and silent more often than not in her company, sometimes due to my reserve, and to be honest sometimes because she just affected me too much and it… frightened me. In our one lone dance, she could not even stay silent for five minutes whole, while in the middle of a ballroom. Now, she looked like she would be perfectly content to remain silent until the meal was done and then retire for the night with nothing but an adieu. It was clearly to be up to me to start a conversation; a role reversal so startling I had no idea where to begin.

I finally decided to try to broach a safe subject, and asked, "Are you still fond of walking?"

She may have been surprised I would remember that detail, but showed nothing, and answered, "I do enjoy it, but not as much as I did. Mr. Collins did not allow me to walk unescorted, and since he has been… indisposed, I have been too busy for more than an hour here and there. I do like your aunt's park when I can find the time."

She looked grave while saying it, leaving much unsaid about her time with Collins, and I despaired of finding any safe topic.

She glanced up and saw my countenance, and despite her stony reserve and outright hostility every time she was in my presence, she showed her good nature by saying, "Do not be alarmed Mr. Darcy. I can see you working your way up to some level of indignation, but it is unnecessary. All is well."

She still gave absolutely nothing away with her expression, but I was relieved she at least had enough concern to notice.

We amused ourselves with the commonplaces for a few minutes. I complimented her on the quality of the meal, and truth be told I was not exaggerating. Everything was done to perfection, and it caused me to wonder when I lost the capacity to enjoy the simple pleasure of a basic meal, well prepared. I thought of the agony I went through every evening at Rosings, and reflected I might be very content to spend every night of my visit here in the parsonage. Even with her stony countenance, and the inability for me to have even a basic conversation, I thought I could well spend my entire life here if I could simply undo some of the damage that horrid man had done.

As to the quality of the meal, I could not praise it highly enough, but I suspected Elizabeth looked on my compliments with a skeptical eye. I was never good with idle chat in the first place, and to try it when in this tense situation was beyond me, but I thought we must at least get through the meal before discussing what I had learned. Perhaps I could try one of the other topics she had once favored, so asked, "Do you still enjoy books?"

She replied a bit sadly, "I read much less now that I am not such an idle creature. I do not have access to very many books, and I mostly prefer the tragedies now, but please do not be distressed about it."

There appeared to be no safe topic. I thought to try yet again, and began anew with, "Mrs. Collin… Miss Benne…"

Once again, I stopped tongue-tied and colored in embarrassment, then cleared my throat and asked, "What should I call you? I noticed that both of your surnames seem to cause you some pain, and I would not wish to do that."

I saw just a flicker of a reaction, so small I doubted she even knew it was there; but I could not guess what it meant. Except for the moments where her eyes betrayed her a few times in the two occasions we had met, she had perhaps the solidest mask I have ever seen. I imagined perhaps there was just a touch of softening in it, but it was more likely I was just seeing what I wanted to see.

Elizabeth sat silently for perhaps half a minute, which would have been an eternity in the conversational life of Elizabeth Bennet, and finally said, "I am surprised you noticed. Nobody else has. Do not concern yourself sir. I will have the name Collins for the rest of my life, so I may as well accustom myself to it."

She paused, and then said, "However, if it distresses you, feel free to simply call me Elizabeth. As you can see, I am a stranger to propriety these days, and to tell the truth, I do not miss it very much."

I abandoned all hope of canvassing a safe topic, and decided to just follow the conversation as it was.

As usual with her, I either said nothing or let my tongue run away without thinking, and said, "I am surprised you would say that. You will be a respectable widow soon enough. Will you not remarry?"

If I was looking to produce a reaction, I had apparently stumbled on the right question. Her face went rigid, and her hands holding her water glass started to shake before she put it down abruptly. She took a deep breath, and said most vehemently, " _Never_!"

In a blind panic, I said, "Please Elizabeth, I did not mean to distress you. Please forgive me. I am trying my best but…"

I looked at her sheepishly, and finally continued, "… I fear my best is not very good, but I will improve if you give me a chance."

After a surprisingly short time considering how distressed she had been, she had the stony mask back in place, but perhaps we both were starting to realize it would not survive forever. She said, "It is all right Mr. Darcy. I have not had a conversation of any real substance with anyone other than Mrs. Hewes in a year… Perhaps I have lost the skill."

For a moment I lost all sense, and reached my hand out to hers, but did nothing but place three of my fingers lightly on top of the back of her hand which was again lying beside her plate. She looked down at it, but did not say anything or move her hand away.

I very carefully, but probably unwisely asked, "Do I ask too much to know _why_ you will not marry?"

She looked at me as if I was a simpleton, or perhaps I was reading too much in the glance. She then unexpectedly stood up, pushed her chair back several feet from the table, and sat down again. Then she asked, "Do you _truly_ wish to know, Mr. Darcy? You may not like the answer. Is it so important to you?"

I caught the challenge in her eyes, and thought frankly at this point I would accept any reaction at all if it would allow me to stay in her presence longer. Not trusting my voice, which I suspected would be choked in emotion, I simply nodded.

Having no idea what to expect, I was startled when she, grabbed the sides of her dress with both hands, and lifted the hem up to her thighs. The scars on her legs shocked me worse than anything I had ever seen. She was not wearing the long stockings that were typical for gentlewomen, so I saw perhaps the first bare legs of my life, but it was not the experience I had dreamed of. I was nearly overcome with a dual desire to reach down and offer comfort to those legs with a gentle caress, and the conflicting desire to proceed to the book room and finish the job the fever had started by killing Mr. Collins with my bare hands.

Elizabeth looked confused and distressed, as if she had no idea why she had done such an insane act, with me of all people. Perhaps she thought the shock would _finally_ send me on my way forever, but there was little if any chance of that. In fact, if she was trying to get rid of me forever, this was the exact opposite of what she should do.

She whispered, "Tell me Mr. Darcy. Would you enter an arrangement where your wife could do _this_ to you, and you had no recourse? No protection from the law or the state or church or friends or family? No hint of disapproval from your own father or your wife's patron? Surrounded by servants afraid to challenge the will of the master for fear of discharge without reference in a world of vindictive gentry, perhaps with a beating of their own, and their own children to feed? Afraid to tell your sisters about it for fear of destroying their own chances to trust their husbands and perhaps find happiness one day? _Nothing_ to prevent another occurrence except perhaps running away to live in poverty and shame, or your own propensity for violence, which is as likely to end with your own head in a noose as not? Would you enter an arrangement where you would be sorely tempted to kill your partner for life just to be done with it?"

She stared at me with an intensity that could burn a tree to the ground in a moment, but I did not think it was actually _me_ she was seeing. Whatever had caused her to confide in me, this speech was not _for me_. I felt certain she was near her breaking point, and needed to tell _somebody_ , and I just happened to be the only convenient recipient.

She continued relentlessly, "Besides all that Mr. Darcy. Suppose I could overcome my fears, and insecurities, and trust someone once again. Suppose that I managed to do that, as unlikely as it seems. Do you think _any_ respectable man will want to see _this_ in his marriage bed night after night for the rest of his life? No, Mr. Darcy! I shall never wed again. Once was one too many!"


	6. Dessert

I stared down at my legs in horror, wondering _why_ I had done such an insane thing with Mr. Darcy of all people. Forget propriety, I was well into wanton territory now, far beyond Lydia's worst behavior on her worst day, and I could not possibly fathom what had come over me. Perhaps I just needed to counter his stubbornness, as he seemed like a man that was going to be hard to get rid of once he had the bit in his teeth. However, what was done was done, so I let him get a good look. I had no idea _why_ I wanted _him_ to understand, but since he was the _only_ person who truly tried to reach me in the past year, maybe I was just desperate to have _some_ impact on _somebody_ and he was a convenient target. I thought perhaps this might compel him to finally leave me in peace, not that I had much peace in the past year anyway.

After a few moments, the horror of the whole thing sank in, followed by mortification and embarrassment. I could not look at him at all, so I just let the dress fall back down, repaired my stone face and asked brightly, "Would you care for some pie, Mr. Darcy? It is the last of the apples from my cellar."

Without waiting for an answer, I jumped up from the chair and practically ran down the stairs to the kitchen. I was standing there shaking like a leaf when I felt a hand land lightly on my shoulder. He did nothing more than that, not even so much as placing his other hand on my other shoulder. For once, I thought his propensity for silence served him well, as I could not stand the idea of any words at this time in this place. He seemed to be willing to just offer the most basic of human reactions, sympathy and concern; and for the first time, I appreciated his presence, which was paradoxical since he was just helping fix the problem created by his own questions. It was most confusing.

At long last, after what seemed a long time but was probably only a minute, I turned without speaking, picked up a pitcher of milk and handed it to him. It took an effort of iron will to move my eyes up to meet his. Relaxing my mask was well beyond my capacity, but I did just for the briefest of moments consent to share a little bit of my pain with him, and he seemed to accept it with a brief nod.

I turned back to the table to pick up two plates left earlier for this purpose, and he seemed to jump a bit when my knife appeared suddenly in my hand. I would have to remember that not everybody was Sergeant MacDonald, and most people would be shocked by my behavior. I had practiced it so often over the past year, it was quite automatic now and I had completely forgotten that gentlewomen, or any women for that matter, usually did not carry knives on their person. As I thought back to all he had heard in the past four days, I reflected the gentleman must think I had murderous tendencies. After cutting two generous slices and cleaning and replacing the knife; I nodded towards the stairs, and we walked back up to the parlor to continue the meal.

By mutual consent, we somehow avoided any possible topic that was not related to either pie or milk until the meal was complete. I explained how I had learned to cook.

"My parishioners have sufficient widows with time on their hands that quite enjoyed treating me as another wayward granddaughter, Mr. Darcy. All I needed to do was ask politely, and they were happy to share their wisdom."

He nodded and said, "I can well believe it. I have learned more than a few useful things from such people."

I sheepishly added, "My former mother always claimed she _set a fine table_ , but I doubt she could even light a fire if her life depended in it. What Mrs. Bennet _actually_ meant, was she could bully the cook into doing what the cook would have done anyway. The only thing truly distinguishing the table at Longbourn was the mistress' propensity to overspend her budget. I never understood that until I had to light my own fires and knead my own bread, but I must admit to a certain satisfaction in my self‑reliance."

He said, "I am certainly impressed by it," and we tucked back in to the pie.

When that was gone, without a word we took the dishes back to the kitchen and cleaned them together. For the first time in ages, I felt the camaraderie of a simple task shared with someone other than Mrs. Hewes or Sargent MacDonald. Surprisingly, for perhaps an hour, I did not particularly dislike Fitzwilliam Darcy. I was surprised he seemed to know his way around a kitchen, and which end of a rag to use, but that just showed how little I knew the man in the end.

Once the dishes were clean and the kitchen was tidy, we retired to the parlor where I rummaged around in the cabinet for my last bottle of port and poured two small glasses.

Finally, at long last, I could avoid it no longer, so I said, "Mr. Darcy, I must apologize for my…"

I had barely even begun, before he silenced me by holding up his hand with a glance of perhaps compassion and understanding. I suspected he now knew that the subject of marriage was not to be canvassed again, and so I believed we had an understanding on the topics that might be entertained.

He said the oddest thing, "Elizabeth, if any apologies are necessary they are mine to give, but I am unconvinced either of us were particularly in the wrong in this case, although my past offenses are many. May we just allow it to pass?"

It seemed for the best, so I nodded my acquiescence.

He asked, "Will you hear me out now? I will stand by our agreement of this morning, but I would very much like to be heard."

I had almost forgotten the original purpose of the supper, but simply nodded. He walked to the entry hall, to return a moment later with a roll of parchments left there with his hat and coat.

Taking the first set of notes, he said, "Elizabeth, I believe your fath… er… Mr. Bennet is correct. There is no legal way to break the entail in your circumstances. I have sent letters to several solicitors in London to see if there is any method or procedure I am unaware of, but at the moment it does not look promising."

I felt just a little bit of curiosity about several things, not the least of which was why he was embroiling himself in my affairs, but I thought I might defer that question. Perhaps it would answer itself one day. I went back to the matter at hand and asked, "I have heard of entails being broken before. Why is this one different?"

His practical nature took over, and he seemed satisfied to have a topic requiring some intellect, or perhaps he was just happy I had made an entire sentence without censure.

He explained, "Because Collins is the _heir presumptive_. Were he the _heir apparent_ , there is a procedure called a _common recovery_ that uses a few complicated steps between the owner and the heir apparent who must be of age and able to represent himself."

He noticed my puzzlement, so he further explained, "The _heir apparent_ is the heir who cannot be displaced. If your father had a son, he would fill that role. Only his death or your father disowning him would remove him as the heir. An _heir presumptive_ , such as Mr. Collins, is the one _presumed_ to be the heir, but should your father have a son, he would displace Collins. For example, should you mother die and he remarry a younger woman, he would be likely to succeed within a few years."

That made sense, so I read through the first few parchments which were a combination of his own notes, and extensive notes from his solicitor in town, wondering just what was driving the man. To have done this in four days required quite a lot of work on his part, and some considerable expense for solicitors and express riders; not to mention completely neglecting whatever he came here to do for his aunt. These parchments probably represented at least a year's income for the parsonage, and he apparently did it just because he felt guilty about eavesdropping. He was a most perplexing man.

I asked the next question, which probably made me sound even more violent, "Should Wickham meet an untimely demise before Bennet, is my former father correct? The estate would have to be split up?"

"Yes. It could be put back together given time, money and both _agreement_ and _representation_ among the heirs, but it rarely works well. You would have to deal with all of your sisters, and any husbands they might have, as well as your _mother_ , which I imagine would be a real sticking point. Each would have to give up _definitive_ ownership of a portion of Longbourn in exchange for an unenforceable promise of an allowance from the reassembled estate, and it is usually difficult or impossible to find agreement since it is trading certainty for uncertainty. Any one heir can disrupt the process, since it is generally not in the interests of the ladies or their heirs to put themselves at risk. The best they can hope for is that if the final owner is generous and kind, they might get the portion they already had, and it's easy enough to end up with nothing. At least some pieces of the estate usually end up being sold off to neighboring estates or speculators at a fraction of its value so the daughter can have something to live on. There are also frequently squabbles about how to fairly split things. How do you split a horse or carriage? Is one field worth more than another of equal size? Is one tenant more diligent and productive than the next? It is easy to descend into argument, even if you have two or three reasonable people. I hate to say it, but of the women left in Longbourn there are a large number, and not all are reasonable."

I sadly nodded in reluctant agreement, and said, "So, the problem is still as I thought it was this morning. Absent me producing a son, Longbourn will cease to exist as a viable estate, unless Wickham manages to sell it whole, or chooses to lease it for a steady income. Neither seems like something that can be relied upon."

I sighed in resignation, thought through it for another few minutes while Mr. Darcy waited patiently, and finally said, "I thank you for what must have been considerable effort and expense on my behalf Mr. Darcy. I doubt I can repay you, but I do appreciate knowing my fate is not just a figment of Bennet's imagination."

The man looked affronted for some reason. Perhaps he had no idea how to deal with simple gratitude, not that anything between us had ever been simple. He gave half a lopsided grin and said, "Elizabeth, I am as you know an arrogant and presumptuous man, so will you simply accept it as part of my character that you once tried to sketch; when I say that those are the last words about repayment I ever wish to hear from you. I do what I wish, and I wish to help you. I _will not allow_ you to think yourself beholden. I have my own reasons for what I do."

I gave up all pretense of ever understanding the man, and simply nodded in acceptance. I imagined that he was feeling some guilt over his failure to check Wickham, and perhaps he thought this was his due. Or maybe he liked to think himself the knight in shining armor, or maybe he was just bored and liked the challenge. Maybe it was as simple as his desire to have an excuse to escape Rosings, which must be tedious beyond belief for a man like him. If it would make the man happy, I thought I should just accept it in good grace.

Thinking the logistics of the entail had been sufficiently canvassed, he asked somewhat sheepishly, "Do you still intend to go along with Mr. Bennet's plan?"

I replied quickly, "Of course"

He looked like he thought there was no _of course_ about it, but perhaps he thought he should try to understand before expressing his own opinions. He then asked, "May I ask why? While I'm at it, could I ask if you would still comply should all of your sisters abruptly attract suitors?"

I looked at him with a bit of a lessening of the mask I had carried most of the night, wondering if he was bored enough to just go back to town and bring back four suitors. I had to chuckle a little bit at the idea, and he watched it curiously but had enough sense not to ask what I found amusing. I could just picture him dragging four gentlemen behind him like a mama bear leading her cubs off into the woods.

I finally got my thoughts back to his question and replied, "A few reasons, really. Firstly, I will not punish the residents of Meryton for Bennet's indolence. Longbourn collapsing would have material consequences for people I have known all my life; although to be honest that would _not_ be sufficient motivation to make me undertake the endeavor."

He seemed impressed that I would even think of tradesmen and villagers, but simply nodded in acknowledgment, so I continued, "I am of course also doing it for my sisters."

He nodded a bit, although I was not at all certain he agreed with it. I looked down a bit and added, "You probably think my youngest two are not worthy of any sacrifice after nearly destroying us with an ill‑planned attachment to a rake. Yes they are young and stupid and selfish, but they are my sisters, and as I told you two days ago, I was nearly as fooled as they were; and I did not have the excuse of youth and ignorance. Also, I'm not entirely certain Bennet will not do to them as he did to me, and I cannot imagine four more marriages like mine. Bennet appears to have been touched in the head. He is not the man I thought he was."

With an opening like that, apparently the man felt like he had something to say. He started talking, and I just sat listening in fear of what he might have to say about my sisters, but he surprised me yet again.

"Elizabeth, your sisters are not the first of my acquaintance to try to elope with George Wickham."

I looked at him carefully to see if any further details might be forthcoming. With Wickham's propensity to prey on young and ignorant women, it was not all that surprising Mr. Darcy would know another. Whether he would say any more or not was in question though, as he was looking quite pensive, staring at something only he could see. He finally, with a shudder, decided to continue.

"When I met you at that assembly where I acted so abominably, I was in a most foul mood. It does not excuse what I said about you, but it might help explain it. You see, Wickham had just a month previously tried to elope with _my_ fifteen year old sister, and like yours, _she had agreed_. Like your sister Mary, I only stumbled on them by accident; but unlike your sister, I was _supposed to be her protector_. I knew all about him, but never suspected he would try that particular ploy. He had no affection for Georgiana; just an affection for her dowry of £30,000. We are a lot more similar than you may have thought."

I gasped in shock, and could only think of one question, "Is she all right?"

He looked back at me, and replied, "I believe she is now. Would you allow me to introduce you to her so you might judge for yourself?"

I was surprised again, and did not have the vaguest idea how to react to that suggestion, particularly as I had no idea if I would even be in his company again after tonight, so I said, "We shall see."

The man nodded, and said, "Another time I will tell you the rest of my history with the man. That is the worst of it, but what came before is truly terrible as well."

I nodded as well, and felt the topic could be closed at least for the moment, and began to wonder at what point I had begun to believe there might be more moments after tonight.

Darcy looked as if he was ready to leave the topic, but he added one last thought, "If my plans come to fruition, Wickham's future will be much more constrained. I have neglected my duty long enough."

I wondered why _now_ he thought Wickham was his duty when he had not thought so after the scoundrel went after his sister well over a year ago. Perhaps last year he was obsessed with protecting his sister, so was constrained in his actions. I had to admit I might have acted the same way given the same provocation. After all, I assume my family made no attempt to warn the people of Brighton about the man. In fact, they would have done everything within their power to keep it quiet so as not to affect my sisters' marriage prospects. I did wish he had seen fit to warn us though, but that was water under the bridge,

The question of Wickham had diverted Mr. Darcy from our original discussion of my plans for the future, and I had no idea if that was for the best or not. I was feeling exhausted though, and thought perhaps it was time to bid him adieu, but was strangely reluctant to do so. I still had one question to answer for him, but thought perhaps the next day might be a better time.

Darcy looked like he was not perhaps ready to revert to the earlier discussion, when were somewhat rudely interrupted.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

I assumed it must be an express rider, and feared for what it would contain. Perhaps Bennet had not even survived the trip back to Longbourn, or had changed the terms of our bargain again. Of course, it could also just be Lady Catherine looking for her wayward nephew, but that idea seemed farfetched.

There was only one way to find out, so I moved the port glasses out of sight, and signaled Mr. Darcy with a nod to either leave through the kitchen or upstairs through the quilts. His curiosity apparently got the better of him, as he chose the latter and I went to open the door.


	7. Wayward

I beat on the door of the infernal parsonage with sufficient heft to let Mrs. Collins know I was not to be trifled with. I really did not understand that woman. She had been nearly a year half a mile from my home, yet had barley visited Rosings a half dozen times, and paid not the slightest attention to any of my very thoughtful and excellent advice. She was a headstrong and stubborn girl, that's what she was.

I assumed she must also be quite the shrew, as Mr. Collins never really seemed to be himself after he married. He was only half a man in the first place, and after about three or four months married to her, he diminished even farther; perhaps to a quarter man. When the fever came for him, it was just taking the shell that was left of him, and I doubted the woman would really miss him when he was gone. She had not even done her duty in producing an heir, despite nearly a year of marriage. Yes, there was definitely something _very_ wrong with Mrs. Elizabeth Collins.

The door opened, and I barely managed to keep my countenance. Most of the parsonage was dark, and the lady of the house opened the door _herself_. Where were her servants? This parsonage held a perfectly good living, so why was she answering the door _personally_? This was most peculiar, but in a moment I began to see that she was simply insuring that I was shown the proper deference as patroness. Most likely she did not trust her servants to perform the office adequately, as they would have very little cause to learn the finer points of etiquette, and might not have the vaguest idea how to behave with a woman of my station. Yes, that perfectly well explained it.

Mrs. Collins did at least know what she was about, as she greeted me with all the appropriate civility of bearing, if not the proper attire. She looked more like a goodwife than a lady, but her dress was immaculately clean and well pressed, and her hair was done properly. Perhaps she wished to maintain the distinctions of rank, which I had to admit was to her favor.

Her greeting was one of surprise and pleasure, which was hardly surprising considering I was condescending to visit her humble abode.

" _Lady Catherine!_ How good of you to visit! What an unexpected honor! Please come in! I am very happy that you condescended to visit."

Her curtsey and her bearing left nothing to be desired, so there was nothing to criticize, except for the deplorable lack of servants. Obviously we were not to have a conference in the entry hall, and since she had taken the duty of greeting me, she also took the task of leading me into the very small parlor.

I was astounded as I entered the parlor to see the dining room dark and shut up, and the stairway also blocked by quilts. What a peculiar state of affairs! I determined I would get to the bottom of it sooner or later, but for the moment, I thought I would reply to her greeting, but she was already performing the next office.

"May I please assist you with your wrap, Lady Catherine? I assure you, it would be my pleasure."

This was again singular, but it was obvious she did not trust her servants to properly care for my clothing. Her care for myself and my property was to her credit, but her inability to manage servants was not; so I thought I might offer some assistance at a later time.

I replied perhaps more curtly than her greeting called for, but I was most vexed and wanted to get my purpose served as soon as it may be done, _"No, you may not!_ I am looking for my nephew."

The lady of the house astounded me by giving the brightest and pleasantest smile I had ever seen grace her face, and replied, "I thank you for the compliment, Lady Catherine. It makes me very happy! Very happy indeed! I am truly honored!"

What in the world was she going on about? How could asking for my nephew be considered a compliment? Perhaps she was not a shrew. Perhaps she was touched in the head, or French.

I looked her over carefully, but seeing no malice or disrespect I answered with my usual frankness, "I have not the pleasure of understanding you. To which compliment do you refer?"

With nary a pause, she said, "That you find my company worthy of your nephew, of course! I would _never_ have presumed you would approve of your nephew calling on _me_ , but I am most gratified to find that you do. Perhaps I should invite him to supper tomorrow… no wait, that would be too soon. It must be Friday if I am to have a meal that is worthy. Of course, you should come as well and bring Miss de Bourgh. That will be most wonderful! I can just imagine it now! I have never had such distinguished guests, and of course, I have been hoping to ask your advice on a particular matter, so it will all turn out as it should! Yes, Friday will do nicely. Will six o'clock be convenient?"

Getting more confused by the minute, or perhaps becoming more exposed to her malady by the minute, I gave her my most imperious stare.

Showing I was not to be trifled with, I replied, "What do you mean, implying that I approve of my nephew calling on you? How can you believe such a thing?"

The lady paused not at all, and looking perhaps sane but a touch disturbed, she said, "Pardon me, Lady Catherine! Perhaps I overestimate your nephew's complaisance! I could not dream any nephew of yours would do something you disapprove of whilst residing in your own home, but perhaps I am wrong."

What was this? To imply such a thing was anathema, and I let her know forthwith.

"Of course not! You are absolutely correct. My nephews are most affectionate and respectful! They are the very best of men, and they esteem me exceedingly. They would not dare tempt my displeasure, but of course they never would do anything out of sorts anyway."

She smiled even more broadly if that was possible and replied, "There you have it then! If you disapproved of your nephew calling on the parsonage, you would not be here looking for him; as it would be quite impossible for him to be here against your wishes. Since you are here, you must approve. It is simple deduction, really, and I must say your approbation is very much appreciated, but of course with all due humility!"

Now I was becoming even more confused. Perhaps she was a serpent, not a shrew. I thought I might slap her impertinence right back where it belonged, and said, "Well, of course my nephew is descended from a _respectable, honourable, and ancient-though untitled—family_ , and it would I suppose be proper for him to show condescension to those within my purview."

She nearly bounced on her toes and agreed, "I would expect no less from a nephew of yours, Lady Catherine. Your approval means very much to me."

Still feeling a little bit put out by the whole affair, I told her, "Naturally! Although I must say, you give your opinions most decidedly for such a young wife."

She became all contrition, and said, "My apologies, Lady Catherine… perhaps I overstate my case. I would never wish for my humble personage to come _between_ you and your esteemed nephew. Family relations are so very important, but easy to disrupt, and I could not bear he thought."

The gall of the woman, to think one such as she could _possibly_ come between my nephew and I! Such a thought! I put her to rights straightaway, "Such is not possible!"

Having been set in her place, she paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. It must be taxing for someone as young to keep up with me, but at length, she said, I am glad to hear that."

Then she took a bit of a breath and asked the oddest question, "Perhaps you could clarify one point for me, Lady Catherine?"

This was behavior I could approve of, so I replied as is proper, "Yes, of course! I am celebrated for my frankness. Ask as you will."

She then asked, " _Who exactly is this wayward nephew?_ I must assume you have several, and I am not at all certain I know any of them. As you well know, my society is limited and very rarely includes the first circles."

What was this? How was it possible for a young woman to be so ignorant of my family; but then I realized she had not been to Rosings more than a handful of times, so she would not necessarily know of all my family dealings. That was more normally the purview of her husband, such as he was.

Naturally, I answered with fortitude, " _Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy!_ He has been staying at Rosings this past se'nnight. He visits every year, but usually at Easter. You of course have not been introduced so you could not know."

She looked a little bit put out by my answer, as if it were even possible and gave the oddest reply of the evening.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy! Yes. I knew him slightly when he visited Hertfordshire last winter. I believe I may even have danced with him once before I was married, but it is difficult to remember."

Now I went from shocked to scandalized! How was it possible that she actually _knew_ my nephew, but claimed she could not even remember a dance with him! Impossible! She must be prevaricating. I did not know which I thought worse. Firstly that my esteemed nephew might dance with some country nobody when he was betrothed to my daughter, or that anyone whose station in life was so decidedly below his could possibly forget a dance with such an august personage. It would have been the highlight of her life.

Thoroughly put out, I asked, "How could you _possibly_ forget a dance with my nephew?"

Her answer was even odder. She said, "Oh, we did not get on particularly well, so I have mostly forgotten him. I believe he found our society somewhat savage, and made his opinion clear. I did by chance have a thought about him this morning, but only to reflect the unlikelihood of ever seeing him again, and to be frank, my satisfaction with that state of affairs."

Now I was even more confused and somewhat alarmed. First she could barely remember him, and now she as much as professed to dislike him. How was it possible a country miss of no importance seemed to disapprove of my noble nephew; and how was it conceivably her place to do so? It was not to be born.

I collected my thoughts for a moment, and asked, "So you say he considered your society; what was the word you used; _somewhat savage?_ "

"Yes, your Ladyship, I believe he did, or at least I must assume so from his manners."

This conversation just kept getting worse and worse. Now she was to _criticize_ my nephew's manners? Or perhaps, she was simply commenting that he was holding himself in the reserve proper for a man of his station, which anyone would approve of. The whole conversation was leaving me insatiably curious, so I asked, "And yet he danced with the ladies."

She shrugged her shoulders, a most unladylike gesture if I ever saw one, and one that I would work out of her deportment if it killed me, but then she at last answered, "Oh, no. He did not dance with the ladies in general. Only me, and only the once."

Now we were getting somewhere, and I was quite fatigued with her evasiveness, so I forthrightly demanded, "Do not dissemble, Mrs. Collins, it does not suit you. You remember the dance quite well, do you not?"

As shocking as the revelation was, at least now we were getting to the bottom of it. I saw her stumble in her speech a bit, probably reflecting on how confusing she was, but finally answered with a wistful look, "Yes, you are correct, Lady Catherine. That was the very last time I danced."

That seemed to take all the wind out of her sails, but it would certainly give me something to think about over the next day. I could not tell if she was sad because she had not danced again, or because her attempts to trap my nephew had failed, or if… the thought was impossible to countenance but my frankness demanded no less… perhaps, she actually did _not like_ my nephew. Something very odd had gone on between the two of them, and I was determined to find out every detail. Fitzwilliam was obviously taken, and Mrs. Collins was obviously married for the moment, but I could not stand the idea of a person in my sphere thinking badly of my nephew; particularly when it seemed remotely possible he had _earned_ her disapprobation.

She seemed to be just about done in, but she quietly asked with the greatest humility, "My offer is still open Lady Catherine. You are welcome to dine, but do not feel I will be offended if you decline. Not everyone is resilient enough for the simple fare we partake of here."

The nerve of the woman, to imply I could not easily handle the worst of foods and direst of conditions. It was intolerable! I come from the hardiest of stocks. Or was she regretting stepping so far above herself. Oh, it was too confusing, so I simply took charge of the affair as I should have from the beginning.

"We will be here at six o'clock on Friday. I will bring Anne and Darcy both. I mean to get to the truth of this matter."

She quietly said, "You need not trouble Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine. The company of you and your daughter will be quite sufficient for me."

I was to have none of that, and replied in the strongest terms, "Nevertheless, he will attend. I will know the rest of the story of your dealings with him in Hertfordshire! I am very nearly his closest relation and should be aware of all of his affairs."

She seemed distressed by that plan, so perhaps she actually did not like him; but simply said, "You can get the story from him by simply asking, Your Ladyship. You need not trouble him to attend."

Wishing to put the topic to rest, I told her, "Rest assured Mrs. Collins, he will give me the story first; but he _will_ attend."

I looked around at the closed up rooms and stairway, still curious but I imagined that could await supper on Friday for my satisfaction.

I asked, "You do not have a French cook, I hope?"

The young lady actually chuckled, another habit I intended to break her of, and said, "I can assure you that the cook in this house is as English as you can get; 300 years at the very least."

Tired of fencing with her, I ended the interview.

"We shall be here promptly at six, Mrs. Collins. If you _do_ happen to see my missing nephew, please tell him to attend me at his earliest convenience. You are certain he is not here?"

She answered, "I can assure your Ladyship, he is not in the living portion of the parsonage. Of course, he may well be in the kitchen, or an upstairs bedroom or a servants attic; or possibly right behind that quilt! Would you like me to check?"

The nerve of the woman! Well, I must own that she did have a touch of impertinence, and I could see that Anne could use just a bit of that herself. Perhaps Friday would not be such a trial after all. I assured her, "No, Mrs. Collins; that will not be necessary."

She replied cordially, "Should I happen upon him rattling about the parsonage, I will happily deliver your message. Good evening, Lady Catherine and thank you for calling. I shall look forward to supper on Friday."

Mrs. Collins walked me back to the entry hall where I had left a footman, and watched as I entered the coach to leave for Rosings.

What a singular encounter! Most vexing, but singular!


	8. Discussion

I stood in astonishment during the entire episode, and came away bemused, befuddled and impressed. If I had not thought highly of Elizabeth before this, I certainly would now. She was some type of virtuoso when she put her mind to it. Nobody I knew had _ever_ gotten my aunt to do something she did not want to, and I had seen attempts made by dukes and earls. But with a five minute conversation, Elizabeth not only stopped her from detecting my wayward presence in her company; but somehow invited the entire Rosings party to dinner at the parsonage, and made it sound like my aunt's idea. All of that was in addition to getting aunt's permission for me to be in her company. I obviously did not need it, but having it would save me some annoyance.

I could begin to see that this was a woman who could probably convince anyone of anything. She had convinced me she liked or at least was indifferent to me when she disliked the very sight of me with good cause, and I was quite certain she did that just to try to protect her eldest sister. She clearly detested Caroline Bingley but simply had sport with the lady, although I doubt Miss Bingley ever understood it. No matter the provocation, she always acted with grace and decorum, but always seemed to carry her point. I could now see she had done just about the same thing with me in Hertfordshire that she did with Caroline. Of course, perhaps after the fire‑iron incident her husband might disagree about her _always_ acting with decorum, but considering his own actions, I thought she showed admirable restraint. She was indeed an amazing woman.

Come to think of it, she _would_ have sent me packing within five minutes of our first meeting after my unintended but still ungentlemanly bout of eavesdropping had I not been stubborn and determined to carry my point. Even that I thought might not have sufficed if she did not need help from my aunt. I did not in the least think I had received the worst setdown she could deliver, or even close. I truly hoped I never would.

It yet remained to be seen if she would allow my persistent pursuit of her esteem; for make no mistake, I wanted that at the very least. I had no idea whether I was still fully in her brown books or not, but I liked to think I had improved my standing somewhat.

As these thoughts echoed through my head, Elizabeth returned from the entry and said, "I believe you are safe now, Mr. Darcy", so I brought my mind back to the matter at hand. Elizabeth had managed my aunt, who had a well‑deserved reputation as a dragon‑lady like a master musician playing their instrument. As I exited from my hiding place, I set about telling her so.

"Elizabeth, that was… masterful is the only word I can think of that may adequately describe it. Do you always have Lady Catherine eating out of your hands?"

She looked at me askance, and said, "You seem easily impressed Mr. Darcy. I managed to deflect your aunt by forcing myself to endure her company for the entire course of a dinner, and set myself up for a full day of cooking and cleaning if I do not want to terribly embarrass myself. There was nothing masterful about it. That was just panic, nothing more."

I doubted that very much, but felt more argument at this point would be fruitless, and I was quite chomping at the bit to finish our earlier conversation.

"Elizabeth, we have had quite an evening, and I cannot begin to express how much I appreciate your candor. I will leave you to your rest if you desire, but I do not feel we are quite finished. Would you be inclined to answer my earlier question now, or would you prefer for me to come back tomorrow; or are you planning to simply toss me out on my head again. I truly would like to know your thoughts, and not just for my own curiosity… it is possible I may be useful to you."

She looked as if she may have forgotten the question. Well, no, that was not quite right. She looked as if _she hoped I had forgotten_ the question, if I was reading her right. She hid herself quite well still, but the amount of staring I had subjected her to over the course of our acquaintance convinced me I could read her moods sometimes. Of course, I had thought the same thing in Hertfordshire and all that did was highlight my ignorance and arrogance; so once again I thought I should rein in my good opinion of myself.

She settled her countenance back into a neutral look, probably out of habit, not out of any remaining belief that she could fool me.

She paused, and then replied, "You still wish to know if I will abide by my agreement with Bennet? Or perhaps you wish to know _why_ since I have already answered the question?"

I nodded in agreement, not certain I could speak.

She nodded toward the chairs we had occupied before and said, "Sit down Mr. Darcy and I shall get some tea."

She had not asked for me to accompany her to the kitchen, so I assumed she wanted a few moments of solitude to gather her thoughts. I occupied myself by looking around the parlor but there was not really very much of interest.

Perhaps five minutes later, I was getting anxious enough to go looking when she appeared with a tea service. She served tea, and prepared it just the way I like it without asking, and even added a small plate of biscuits.

She occupied herself with her tea and biscuits for a moment, and finally said, "I will go along with the plan because I am a selfish creature; perhaps even mercenary."

I patiently waited for her to continue; as I had no indication she really wanted me to say anything.

She said, "Do you have any idea how difficult life can be for a lone woman Mr. Darcy? I was trying to liberate enough from the household accounts to run away when Collins attacked me, but it was very difficult. At the most I might have had twenty or thirty pounds to get me somewhere else. In retrospect it may have been a better option, but still difficult. I would have to go someplace where he could never find me, and that is hard on £10."

I simply gave her a concerned look, and said, "It would be presumptuous and arrogant for me to say I understood. I could work out the sums, but that is in no way anything like true understanding."

She nodded and said, "I appreciate that sir, most would not admit to such ignorance."

She continued, "When Mr. Collins became ill and it became clear that he would not recover, I… I… I hate to admit it. I was not precisely _happy_ ; but I was _relieved_. I need no longer hide from both the law and my lawful husband in fear, and my only trial would be poverty; an inconvenience by comparison."

She was not really looking at me, as she said, "I refuse to live the life society leaves for gentlewomen who do not marry. A life as governess or companion is not for me. They are forever the outsiders. Neither servant nor family, subject to the whims of their employers, spending their time managing other people's children or their dotage, with no real authority over anything at all. It is not uncommon for them to be treated almost as badly as Mr. Collins treated me. No sir. I refuse. I would rather become a scullery maid."

I started to speak, but held myself when she continued, "With Mr. Collins illness, and no male relatives to stick their noses into my affairs, I considered my problem to be; if not solved; at least mitigated before the day Bennet came back into my life."

I asked, "How so?"

"This living generates £600 per annum, Mr. Darcy. As you can see, I practice every bit of economy possible. Perhaps you have not noticed but I keep enough poultry and a big enough kitchen garden to sell some. I am even planning to lease some of the parsonage's acreage to a farmer for crops in the spring. I did all of this with the intention of saving perhaps as much as £1,000 or more before he died."

She paused a few moments as if checking the sums in her head, and then continued.

"Even a few hundred pounds would be riches by comparison to the ten I expected to have to escape with. That amount would be enough to allow me to live in relative comfort as a shopkeeper or something similar. Even just putting £1,000 in the four percents would be enough to generate close to £40, which is more than a governess makes and enough to have a small home. It would be enough to save me from poverty, and I was quite satisfied with the scheme."

I had to ask, "You had not thought to return to Longbourn after his death?"

She just snorted in derision at the suggestion, but seemed aware I had asked just for the sake of completeness, not because I thought she would seriously consider putting herself under her father's power again.

She continued, "So now we come to the heart of the matter Mr. Darcy. Are you certain you want to know the extent of my selfishness?"

I simply nodded, as I could not comprehend any possible way her actions could be considered selfish.

She said, "We have canvassed my abhorrence of marriage. I _will not_ be a wife again, but _I_ _do_ _wish to be a mother with all my heart_. I am not arrogant enough to think I will be the best of mothers, or that raising a child without a father will be easy, but being better than my parents seems to be within my reach, and I will be neither the first nor the last woman to do it. I would not wish to go through my life without the chance for that experience. It seems like it would be an empty existence."

If possible, my esteem climbed another notch and I said, "I comprehend that desire fully. Anyone who did not wish to be a parent must have a hole in their heart. I _still do not understand_ how that makes you selfish though."

She stared me down carefully for a moment, then said, "I told you the altruistic reasons before your aunt came to visit, but the real reason I will do it is because _Longbourn generates £2,000 per annum._ My father was only a life tenant, but should I produce a son, and my chances are not any worse than any other woman trying to do the same, my children would be set for life; and so would I. Until he comes of age, I would have control of my son's fortune, and with the entail ended, I could invest and increase the estate's income substantially with some of the newer farming methods. And when my son does come of age, I like to think I would have raised a young man who would be happy to take care of his mother and any unmarried aunts for life."

She gave me quite a serious look and said, "I agreed to the scheme for selfish and mercenary reasons Mr. Darcy. I am doing it for Longbourn! You may despise me if you choose, but at least you will understand me."

I took perhaps a moment too long to gather my thoughts, as she next said, "I believe your curiosity should now be satisfied Mr. Darcy. I believe it is time to return to Rosings."

I wished to protest her self-condemnation, but she seemed quite fixed on the idea of my departure, so I stood up and took my leave, deep in thought, while she looked like she believed she had finally managed to rid herself of my presence once and for all.


	9. Tedium

Thursday was the most ordinary day of my life. I have not the slightest idea why I even bother chronicling it, as not a single notable thing happened. As per my usual custom, I arose early and broke my fast with my companion over porridge and eggs. As with most Thursdays, the Ross boy brought coal for our bin, and as he generally did, he carried quite a bit into the kitchen for our convenience. He was not supposed to do that, and had extracted a solemn oath not to tell his father from the both of us. Such diligence was well worth both our pastry and our silence, so our small conspiracy went on for another week. We swept the kitchen and tidied up the other principle rooms in the standard fashion, and then went about our other daily chores.

A bit later, as happened just about every day, I found my geese trying their very best to drive off Mr. Darcy with a lot of fluttering and honking, while my chickens attacked his boots. As usual, they were not having any more success than my efforts had produced.

I responded to the gentleman in the usual fashion, "Mr. Darcy, you seem to have gotten on the bad side of most of my poultry."

He replied, "Is that really true Elizabeth, or have you been training them in this task for weeks."

That actually brought a small smile from me, which was on the unusual side. As time went on, I found that I really understood Mr. Darcy less and less; or perhaps my well-established _lack_ of understanding was being chipped away by exposure to the man. At the very least, he was very perplexing… as usual. On the other hand, I was not finding his presence as unacceptable as I had, so perhaps the day was not quite as unremarkable as I thought.

I had an impertinent remark on the tip of my tongue about how I had been _quite_ successful at driving him from my company a year ago but seemed to have lost my skill… but then thought better of saying it. Instead, I said simply, "You seem a difficult man to bend to anybody's will, Mr. Darcy", but I gave him a small nod to remove any sting from the assertion, since he seemed amenable to humor.

He asked cordially if he could assist me with my poultry. I would usually have disdained any help because spreading the grain, was almost a pointless task, but it was one that I enjoyed for the sheer mindlessness of it, but then I thought better of it. He was being agreeable, so I could do the same. I pointed him to a small basket of tools in the corner and said, "If you care to repair that fence Mr. Darcy, I would appreciate it. Sergeant MacDonald planned to do it for me later in the day, but you can probably do it as well."

He walked over to the tools, came back suitably equipped and went to the task with apparent enthusiasm, while I carried on spreading my grain.

At length, I said, "Mr. Darcy, I do not know whether to apologize for my unseemly candor last night or not; but I assume since all I was doing was satisfying _your_ curiosity, and since you have not taken your leave yet, you are not overly offended. I know you probably find my selfishness… indecorous, and I must thank you for holding whatever your thoughts on the matter might be."

I reflected that might be the most polite thing I had ever said to him.

He stood up from the neatly repaired fence; in fact, much better than the sergeant could do; and said, "May I ask you a question, Elizabeth?"

I said, "To the best of my knowledge, nothing has ever stopped you from asking any question you wanted to ask, so I assume that particular rhetorical question was mainly out of politeness. I do not object."

He said quite seriously, "Do you considered me a selfish person?"

I had to think on that for a bit, as I found I was quite incapable of prevaricating with the man. I had not the slightest idea _why_ I could not lie to him or even shade the truth since his arrival in Kent; but had to admit that it was the case. I finally said, "I do not know."

I thought a bit more and said, "If you had asked me a year ago, I would have said you were without question. Even a week ago or perhaps as late as Tuesday I would have thought the same. Now… now… now, I do not know. Now, I think I will not presume to actually know you very well, and I find my previous opinions on many things to be… suspect. I prefer to have no opinion, since it is as likely to be wrong as right."

He nodded, and said, "Had I been well mannered and polite last year in Hertfordshire, engaged you in proper conversation, danced with the ladies, and then taken proper leave before I left; would you have _then_ considered me selfish?"

I thought about that for a time, trying my best to be completely fair, and said, "No, I believe I would not. I objected to your behavior, what I thought as your _selfish disdain for the feelings of others_. Without that, you would have had very little impact on me, and I would have thought you no more selfish than any other rich man. My mother would have driven me insane, but you would be quite safe from my censure."

He nodded and said, "Before I come round to my main point, I must say that I do agree with you. I _have been a selfish being all my life_. My parents tried to teach me good principles, but their example of behavior had more effect than their words, and I have not even lived up to that standard."

I simply nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His previous selfishness was a point not worth beating to death.

He continued his point, saying, "Would you have considered me selfish for _merely claiming my birthright to Pemberley_ , absent my bad behavior?"

I said, "Of course not! What a ridiculous question."

Now he looked like a wolf that had just spotted his prey, and said, "So will you please explain to me Elizabeth, in terms sufficiently simple for my meager understanding, _why you think yourself selfish because you plan to claim your birthright and take care of your sisters? Or perhaps, it is the desire to raise a child well and insure their future. Is that the selfish part, because I am having a terribly difficult time finding you selfish in the least!"_

Once again, the man had stunned me into silence. I was so used to my own thinking being the only thing I really listened to, that I had almost forgotten the art of looking at things from another perspective; or more likely, I had never acquired it in the first place. How much of my thinking was caused by me simply taking an idea into my head, and holding onto it stubbornly no matter the evidence against it? How would my life have been different if I had simply not allowed one ill‑humored remark to poison my entire association with a man who was actually unfailingly polite and engaging while I was at Netherfield taking care of Jane? Would I have found a valuable acquaintance if I had not been so stubborn, and tried to draw him out; a feat that was very well within my capabilities? What if I had taken that half hour in the library to get to know him? Was this quite amiable but strange man in front of me even available back then? Could I have reached him?

He waited patiently for me to think about his words, which probably took some time since they sent me into a frenzy of brooding about the past that could not be changed.

I finally said, "You make a good point, Mr. Darcy."

He said, "I _will grant you_ that you mother _is_ a selfish mercenary, but there is a vast difference between a desire to save a fine and venerable estate with a long history; and the desire to settle a daughter on some hapless gentleman regardless of what said or daughter or gentleman might need or desire. There is a vast difference between what you plan, and the arts and allurements many of the first circles practice; most of them indistinguishable from your mother. _If you please, Elizabeth_ , I will hear no more of your supposed selfishness. You are the least selfish person I know, and I will not stand for you denigrating yourself in this fashion for another moment."

I had no idea how to respond to that. Mr. Darcy was acting much more like a true friend than… than… than whatever I thought him to be; even after all the conversations we had been through. Perhaps, I still did not know him at all.

At length, I said, "I thank you Mr. Darcy. There is wisdom in what you say, so I shall try to think better of myself."

He walked directly in front of me, looked at me quite carefully, and said, "If you think of yourself half as well as I think of you, I shall be satisfied."

To that, I had not the slightest hint of an idea how to respond.


	10. Duty

I thought that after that expression, even Elizabeth's poultry should have improved their opinion of me. Of course, she looked completely lost and confused, as if she had just learned her dog spoke perfect Latin, except for declensions. She was obviously deep in thought, but after a few moments, she shook it off as if she had made her decision, or decided to defer the matter to another time. She took the basket and put it back under the shed where the grain was stored, and brushed off her dress and apron, even thought they were both spotless already, and started towards the parsonage.

"Mr. Darcy, would you care to step into the parsonage for your traditional afternoon tea?"

She seemed in a funny mood, since I had never taken afternoon tea in the parsonage even once, but I agreed to this plan, exactly the same as I would have agreed to just about any plan she might suggest.

"Yes, I would be most happy to, Elizabeth."

I followed her to the kitchen, and we set about getting the kettle, cups, tea and all the other accoutrement of her tea service set on a tray, which I carried it up to the parlor. As before, I found some comfort in the sharing of a simple task, particularly since this sort of thing was almost always left to servants in my normal life, and I suspected it was the same for Elizabeth previously. A few moments were spent organizing the tea things strategically around the table, and then a few more with Elizabeth preparing the tea, then pouring it for both of us following exact protocol as expected. After that, we finally settled down to our tea, and mostly dispensed with idle pleasantries for a few minutes with tea and biscuits. I thought to compliment her on the refreshments, but somehow it seemed like it would be empty praise.

I started off with a bit of a difficult question… Well forget that… I opened with a real barn breaker. I had never been any good with small talk in general, and with Elizabeth I seemed to have lost the ability to even pretend to try.

"Elizabeth, since you are intending to go through with this plan of yours, I heard you assert to your father that you know exactly how it is all… er… done. Should I take you at your word, or were you blustering?"

She replied, "I say Mr. Darcy, you appear to be of the _'take no prisoners'_ school of conversation. Is this truly how you talk in the first circles?"

I could not really tell if she was teasing, offended, or genuinely curious, so I set out to answer as best as I could.

"This particular type of question and answer, to the best of my knowledge, _only_ happens either among _your_ poultry or at _your_ table; and so far only when the two of us are alone. This is a very distinct conversational style we have developed, Elizabeth. _I only speak this way with you._ Not even my closest cousin or sister is treated thus."

She replied, "Admittedly, we have developed a level of candor that would be surprising even among close friends, let alone among…"

She seemed lost in thought for a moment before continuing.

" _What exactly are we, Mr. Darcy?_ We are not really friends? At the moment, I cannot even pretend to either know you or like you very much. In the beginning, you were the man I disliked the most in the world, an arrogant rich ill-mannered cretin that I could barely stand; but you were not the least bit significant to me. Then you became a man I had entirely forgotten for months and months, and probably would have never thought of again in my life had you not been the nephew of my patroness. That was followed by your stint as an ungentlemanly eavesdropper who feels a compulsive need to poke his nose into my personal business. You have been all of those things, _and yet_ you seem to have lately become my most trusted confidant. At this moment, you are the _only_ person in the world who has heard the entire unvarnished Elizabeth Collins née Bennet story, in all of its gruesome details."

She sat up straight in her chair, stared at me with a look that would have been alarming had I not known her better, and finally said, "How have you become my confidant, Mr. Darcy? I started telling you shocking things simply to drive you from the property, and then eventually found there were apparently no things shocking enough to accomplish that; at least there have not been thus far. Why are you so stubborn Mr. Darcy? _Why do I accept it?_ You _must_ know that _I could probably say_ something that would send you away forever if I truly wanted to. I can have a razor sharp tongue when I choose to. Why have I demurred?"

The questions sounded mostly rhetorical, so I was not entirely certain she wanted answers or even discussion. They sounded much more like her thinking aloud, trying to work the puzzle out for herself.

At length, I responded, "Perhaps, I have _not_ done enough to earn your approbation, but I _have_ done enough to earn your trust. Or perhaps, you just needed to unburden yourself to _somebody_. The traditional confidants; parents, siblings, clergy were not available to you. Perhaps, I was the only reasonably trustworthy confidant at hand; the best of a bad lot."

She thought about that for a moment, and replied, "I imagine that explanation makes sense, although you could just as well say it is hard to find a person I know at all who has less connection to me; but I suppose that is not very generous. I must say I have learned something surprising. I find I will miss this level of candor when you go."

That matter-of-fact way she blithely assumed I would leave bothered me, so without overly thinking upon it, I said, "I am going nowhere, Elizabeth!"

She looked at me quite carefully, almost top to bottom, as if evaluating livestock, or searching for the meaning of my thoughts. This only took a second or two, before she replied.

"Oh! You _shall_ leave Mr. Darcy, because you _must_ leave! It is inevitable, and truly must be done sooner rather than later. _I know it! You know it!_ Anyone who thinks about it for more than a moment knows it. Your aunt and Miss de Bourgh would certainly concur. _It is inevitable_ , that it must and will happen soon. I was simply ruminating on how things will be different after your departure."

Perhaps not her most diligent or brightest student, I said, "What do you mean I _must_ leave? I am master of Pemberley! I will not ignore my duties to my estate, but otherwise I go where I choose!"

Here I was having yet another bout of abominable pride, which I now looked at more judiciously than I had prior. How arrogant that sounded, and yet I was not to be moved on this particular subject, so it was at least accurate.

Elizabeth looked at me as if that were the exact answer she was expecting, and said, "Do I _truly_ have to explain it to you, Mr. Darcy? It all seems so obvious to me that it should not even need to be spoken of."

I just shrugged my shoulders, a mannerism my aunt would despise, and said, "Perhaps you shall need to be more explicit, because I have no idea what you are talking about Elizabeth."

She looked at me carefully and asked, "You may find my answer offensive or insulting. Do you still wish it?"

I chuckled and said, "I believe I have proven my resilience. Do your worst!"

She looked pensive and said, "Did you know I saw you the very first day you appeared in Hertfordshire. You and Mr. Bingley were riding out to see Netherfield, and I saw you on the way back home from one of my rambles. You were on a black stallion that seemed just a touch hard to control. It was faster than Mr. Bingleys, but at least the Bingley horse went where he wanted it to go. Do you still have that horse?"

Puzzled, I told her, "In fact, I do. It is standing in the stable at Rosings as we speak. You can even credit or blame him for my presence here today. I rode him from London last week and he lost a shoe a couple miles outside of Hunsford. That is how I came to be eavesdropping on you and your… er… Mr. Bennet."

She continued with her interrogation, "And, how often do you ride? I do not mean just a leisurely cantor suitable for your sister or Rotten Row. I mean a hard manly ride that has the horse lathered and your hat in danger."

This seemed quite as far as it was possible to get from the original question, but I went along as I had no better idea.

"Usually once per day, sometimes twice, but not every day. Perhaps a dozen times per week on average, I would say."

She nodded sagely and asked, "How long has it been since your father died?"

Puzzled, I wondered where she was going, but answered sadly, "It has been nine years now."

She continued relentlessly, "And your sister, she is quite capable of managing the estate, is she?"

Shocked, I said, "Certainly not!"

She looked at me and said, "You may think I am talking in circles, but I assure you I am not. Everything we have spoken of since we sat down is related."

I simply waited patiently for her to continue, and at length she did.

"I have been thinking a great deal about _duty_ Mr. Darcy, and I am not convinced you have been doing yours, nor do you appear to be inclined to. By your own admission, you have risked your life on your horse perhaps 5,000 times since your father died. You not only have no heir; you appear to not even have a potential mother for that heir, unless you have someone hidden away I do not know about. Your aunt thinks to pair you with Miss de Bourgh, but I doubt she would survive the rigors of childbirth; or at least, I would not want to bet the future of a great estate on her health."

Now she sat up straighter, stared me in the eyes and continued.

"Who would look after your estate in case of your death, Mr. Darcy? You have told me that you have a small family, just your sister; no spare. How will your estate survive if you do not produce an heir? It is more than _twenty years_ until any heir you produce will be even remotely capable of handling the burden, and more likely thirty. Will you depend on your extended family? Will a cousin or uncle become owner or trustee should you fall? Will they take diligent care of your sister and your tenants when they have their own estates to manage? You will be close to fifty, with 10,000 more dangerous rides by the time your heir is the age you were when you took over the estate. Sixty when he is truly prepared for the burden, and that assumes you start looking for a wife _now_. Truly, you should have been looking five years ago."

Each word hit me like a hammer. I was used to being considered arrogant, rude, bad mannered, egotistical and all the other things she had once correctly thought of me; but I was I no way accustomed to being considered derelict in my duties. I was a good and conscientious master, kind to my tenants, servants and retainers. Generous to those under my control. Diligent in management of the responsibilities left to me; except for the one lapse with Georgiana.

She continued relentlessly, "Your sister is what, seventeen now? When will she enter society? Has she recovered from her debacle with Wickham? Will she be able to function without a mother or sister to guide her? I would hope you are not counting on Lady Catherine! Will she be torn apart by the harpies of the _ton_ , whom I have been assured are _fierce gossips_ if her brother _remains unmarried at near thirty_ , and _spends his time with an ineligible widow with perhaps a bastard or two._ The truth about any children I have _will_ come out sooner or later Mr. Darcy, I can assure you. It always does, and it will harm you, your estate _and your sister_. What happens to _your sister's_ reputation if people make the not unreasonable assumption that I have stepped outside the bounds of marriage _with you_ , if you are still hanging about? True or not, it will be spoken of, even if Wickham has to start the stories himself."

She paused and looked at my countenance, which was admittedly most likely quite shocked and said, "As I said Mr. Darcy. I am not trying to be harsh, but I do believe it is time for you to get on with the serious business of producing an heir, and you are probably materially harming both your estate and your sister if you remain in my company very much longer."

With a deep breath, she fired her last arrow.

 _"I intend to do my duty, Mr. Darcy. Will you do less?"_

With that, she folded her hands on her lap and looked down at them somewhat shyly, as if just waiting for my reaction. Perhaps she expected me to be angry, or storm out of the parsonage, or yell at her or profess my innocence or; who knew what she expected. She had previously asserted I was generally ill‑mannered, a point that was not in contention, so she had every right to be cautious, but I was not inclined to censure her for telling the truth.

I had never actually taken the trouble to _truly_ understand all the particulars of my life. It was all so obvious when she pointed it out to me. My aunt had been rattling on about duty for years, but none but Elizabeth had ever managed to make it sink in.

She obviously had courage in abundance, as well as great sense and education. Perhaps she had always thought these thoughts, but I did not think so. This was most likely a result of her recent encounter with the duties and responsibilities of position. She had not had an estate handed to her on a plate, hers since birth with nobody to gainsay her. She had been forced to think _all the way through all the implications_ in the ten minutes she spent staring at her father in the lane. She had thought through the entire thing, made a life‑changing decision that would give her unknown risks and rewards, and she had done it all while only barely restraining herself from doing harm to her father, and doing her best for her sisters.

I believe it was in that small interval between her declarations of my need to do my duty, and when I was capable of making a response, that I decided once and for all, irrevocably, that I was in love with Elizabeth. Perhaps I had known it all along, but much like her assertions about my duty, I had not seen what was sitting plain as day, right in front of my eyes.

I was in love with Elizabeth Collins née Bennet, and the idea of loving another was quite impossible to fathom.


	11. Practicality

I waited! I waited most patiently. I had not the slightest idea what precisely I was waiting for, but I waited. I expected an explosion of some type, or a leave-taking, or some argument, or… Actually, I knew not I expected. Once again, I wondered why I could not prevaricate with this man. I lied to our curate every day. I lied to our perishers and the people of the village, at least by omission every time I saw them. I sat in the parson's pew every Sunday and lied to the entire congregation. I lied to Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh; so why could I not keep my opinions to myself with this man of all men. There was a time when I would have stomped my foot and asserted he was an insufferable man, but this time, I believed I was the insufferable one. He had paid me a great compliment, and I repaid it by questioning his dedication to his duty; nay, his very character; but I could neither retract nor soften the blow. _Why him? What hold did he have on me?_

When I could finally look up from my clasped hands at his countenance, I saw him deep in thought; but with no apparent anger or desire to depart my company.

He finally said, "You are correct, Elizabeth. I have _not_ done my duty. It is imperative that I produce an heir. I believe I have known this for some time, but have been unwilling to admit it. I do however believe I have a solution, and I would like to discuss it with you once I have worked out all the particulars."

This surprised me. I still had no idea _why_ he was my confidant, but my choices were limited. He, on the other hand was master of a great estate, known to many. Why would he need me?

Confused, I asked, "Why me, Mr. Darcy?"

He looked at me and said, "I am not the only confidant here, Elizabeth. You are now my most trusted advisor. _Only you_ speak the absolute unvarnished truth to me without prevarication or guile or expectation. I will depend on your wise council, should you decide to give it."

Once again, the man completely baffled me, but since this was only the latest of the baffling changes in my life, I decided I could work it out later.

"Of course, Mr. Darcy! I am at your disposal. Perhaps, one day we may call each other friends."

He simply smiled, and said, "Yes, perhaps."

I poured more tea, and was happy to see my hands did not shake. By all rights, I should be afraid of Mr. Darcy, but I had lost my fear of nearly everything some time ago.

He said, "You have given me a lot to think about Elizabeth, and I appreciate it. I cannot express how much I appreciate it, but suffice to say your advice will almost certainly be life changing. However, I noticed you _also_ managed to deflect us from your problem at hand. Are you averse to returning to it?"

I asked, "Are you not the one deflecting now, Mr. Darcy?"

"Not really. I need some time for reflection, but I assure you, we _will_ return to the previous subject another day. We are by no means done with the discussion."

This time I had no reaction whatsoever to the assertion that we would talk another day. I had been correct that he _must_ leave me, but he did not have to do so _today._ Since I had just practically flayed him alive over his character, I believed I must now address mine.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy. I have consulted women who know these things. More than one actually. I know how the act is done, and forgive me if this sounds arrogant, but getting the participation of the male part of the operation should not be that difficult. I know at least five farmer's or tradesman's sons who would happily do the honors. I do not think poaching so close to home will be to my advantage though, so I shall go a bit farther afield. I do not foresee any great difficulties. I am told boys take to the activity with very little provocation."

I knew not if it was my shocking language, or the matter of fact way I discussed such a delicate topic that bothered him; but I could clearly see his face falling as I spoke. I was puzzled by this, as all I had done thus far was state the obvious. Was it possible he did not even understand how it was done, or had never participated? A man of his station would have ample opportunity for such delights. I knew for a fact that Wickham regularly indulged, and had always assumed all men in the first circles did.

He seemed to take it all in, and then asked in his usual forthright way, "You mention sons from trades. Why sons? Why tradesmen?"

He seemed genuinely curious, and I thought it might be useful to get the opinion of an intelligent man, so outlined my thinking.

"It cannot be a married man, for obvious reasons. I still have _some_ honor left. For older men, that leaves single men past marriage age, who are as likely to be rakes or otherwise unsuitable as anything else. I want a child, Mr. Darcy, not the French disease. I want a boy so I do not have to share him."

My forthright discussion of the risks of the endeavor seemed to shake him even more. I did not know if it was the actual risk or my discussion of it that was most troubling, but he was certainly troubled.

I continued, "That means I need a _young_ man. A young man may enjoy the act for what it is and will not trouble me for more than I can give. I may need more than one; as that would make the likelihood of success greater, and would also confuse the parentage should the question arise later. That means I will need a few tradesman's sons. It is really quite simple if you have thought about it as much as I have in the last few days."

He shook himself and asked, "Why not a gentleman? For example, _why not me_? I am convenient and proven discreet."

His revenge was now complete, as I was shocked into silence for several moments. The very idea of _him in particular_ had never even occurred to me. It was practically unthinkable. Not the kind of unthinkable as to bring a level of disgust, but so unthinkable the idea never even came close to my mind. However, I _had_ thought about using a gentleman and discarded the possibility.

I carefully answered, "To be honest, I never even thought about you Mr. Darcy. It does not seem the kind of thing that you could do, and… well, I do not think of you in that way. Also, based on our earlier discussions; I believe you have… other places where such efforts should be spent."

He looked ready to say something else, which I had no desire to hear, so I quickly rushed ahead.

"I discard gentlemen for a few reasons Mr. Darcy. The first is that lower status younger sons are easier to find. I know at least five that are suitable just in this parish, but I do not know a single gentleman that could do the honors, unless I went back to Meryton and engaged one of my childhood friends; a prospect with its own drawbacks."

Again he wanted to interrupt, and I quickly set about getting the rest of my thoughts out.

"The other reason I reject gentlemen Mr. Darcy, is that I want to walk away from the natural father and never see him again. It would be unfair to ask a young man to give up his chance for a proper family just for a roll in the hay, and they need never know either my goals or the results. They will perform the office with no harm done. With a gentleman, particularly one of means, I would have to worry about him interfering in my life."

I gave him the hardest stare I could, but gently said, "Even had I thought of it, I could not ask you Mr. Darcy, because you are a powerful man. _Could you allow your natural son to be raised by another without a word from you?_ Would you allow a question to arise about the most proper heir to Pemberley when you have one older natural son and another legitimate one? Could you resist the temptation to intrude on my life, as would be your right as the boy's natural father? If I did this with any gentleman of your status, or any gentleman of any means at all, I would be beholden and in fear of them for the rest of my life. It would be as bad as being married to him, but without any of the benefits."

I took a deep breath and said, "Please, I beg of you not to take this wrong, but as the most powerful man I know, you are assuredly the last man in the world I would wish to have an illegitimate child with."

At this, he just nodded and went back inside his own thoughts, so I left him to it for a few minutes, then cleaned up the tea things, and bid him to return to Rosings. I doubted very much that we were _done_ with either conversation, but we were certainly done for the day. I had endured all I could take, he looked like he had as well, and it was time to prepare supper.

* * *

 _A/N: This is probably the last posting for my first day, so hope you're enjoying it. There are probably another 15 chapters to go, and 5 are mostly written. I believe I will finish in the next few weeks._

 _Quite by coincidence, I had just posted my Letters from Cheapside, a story entirely in letters, and had written about half of this one when I stumbled on Letters from Elizabeth by I found my Mr. Darcy. It is both a letter format, and is a similar story to this one, except with Elizabeth unfortunately having a more realistic reaction. Wives of abusers frequently just take it and even make excuses, so I recommend that story. I can't post a link, so just search for the title.  
_

 _I'll be back with more chapters in a day or two. Hope you're enjoying it._

 _Wade_


	12. Author's Note

**A/N: Wow, Wow, Wow!**

I thank you all for the tremendous response. I believe I've had the best first-day response of any of my stories by a substantial margin, so maybe I hit a nerve. This 'chapter' is just an excessively long rambling A/N, so if you want to get back to the ducklings, just click onto the next chapter. I thought I'll take a chance to answer some of the questions from reviews and PMs.

* * *

 **The POV**

I was admittedly nervous about the shifting POVs, but in the end I really like them and everyone who has written about them seems to as well, so perhaps we can call it a successful experiment.

Some of you have pointed out some incorrect pronouns here and there, which prompts me to mention how they got there. I wrote the first about seven chapters in omniscient POV, and then rewrote them in the shifting first person POV. I like it enough that I think I will continue it; although my next story has yet another experiment, so maybe the story after.

At any rate, glad you're enjoying it and I think it's something I'll use again.

* * *

 **The Entail**

There were a couple of people wondering about the mechanics of the entail, and whether Lizzy's plan is sound. For example, if Collins inherits, would Elizabeth just take over if he died, etc. There are a couple of answers. The first is that I am not an expert on the subject, and I could well have gotten something terribly wrong, so don't discount that possibility. Happens all the time. If all else fails, I will fall back on my favorite whipping boy – the characters do the wrong thing just like people do the wrong thing all the time in real life.

Entails always lasted a certain amount of time (usually 3 generations), and had to be periodically renewed. If that didn't happen, you could end up with a block of land at the end of time that nobody owned. Entails were intended to keep estates together and in the family. They started in the 16th century, mostly to prevent dilution of the power of the upper classes.

Everything in the property owner's world was geared towards acquiring power and status for your family, and that was always tied to the land you owned. Pemberley is one of the greatest estates in England. Split it in one generation between five heirs, and you have five Longbourns. Only three generations of splitting it in half between only two heirs would make it even smaller (1/8 the size). The math is pretty easy if you look at it that way. Big Good! Small Bad! Allowing any split of the estate inevitably would end up with an estate that was smaller and less powerful with each generation, so the idea of handing it complete to the closest proven family member generally made sense.

So all of that meant you wanted to pass it whole (as you will see in several JA novels), and since men had all the power, it was common to pass it to the eldest son. They made entails just to make sure nothing bad happened… you know, like having a woman own it. Women were considered inferior in all the bu**shi* ways we all know about, but worse yet, they were taught to knit purses, and not to manage estates, so estates in the hands of women were uncommon – not unheard of mind you, but not common. Not every estate was entailed. For example, Lady Catherine can own Rosings because it is not entailed, and Pemberley does not seem to be either. However, if Darcy never married, he could entail Pemberley on Georgiana's oldest son, and it would pass through her line. Also, should Lady Catherine marry (OK, quit shuddering now), all of her power would go to her husband. It's no wonder she stayed single (spoiler – Lady Catherine's role in this story is not finished).

Mr. Bennet is a life tenant, which severely constrained what he could do during his lifetime. He could not sell any part of the estate; take a mortgage, allow tenancies to go vacant, be too abusive in his neglect, or various other things, even if he wasn't lazy. JA implied he made few changes during his lifetime which would be consistent with his character.

JA never says how long the entail actually lasted in that particular case so there is some speculation, but it probably was set for 3 generations so depending on who set it up, it might end with Collins, or with Collins' son. Had Mr. B. fathered a son, they could have worked together to break the entail when his son came of age no matter how it was originally set up using a legal fiction called Common Recovery. The Wikipedia entries for "Fee Entail" and "Common Recovery" seem pretty good. Or, in the likely case that the Bennet son was the third generation, it would just end with no effort.

So for the purposes of this story, at least before Darcy does his research, I assumed both Lizzy and her father might not have all the correct information. Lizzy certainly does not, and it's an open question how diligent her father was in searching it out, but there is in fact an entail that will end with either Collins or his son; or Wickham or his son. Note that there is no guarantee that Wickham is the same generation as Collins, so the endpoint can move. I made the entail end with Wickham or Collins because it makes the story work, and it's pretty likely the case anyway.

* * *

 **So why exactly is Lizzy doing all this crazy s***?**

Because she has no idea who will die first, her father or Collins. If her father goes first, as I am implying is a distinct possibility (his symptoms are for acute heart disease – not auspicious), Collins would inherit, and she may or may not be able to run the estate. Married women had virtually no legal power, as they did not even exist as a legal entity. They were treated almost as property of their husbands, so with a live but non‑functioning husband she would be in a bit of limbo (as she already is). I am not sure what would happen, but I bet one of you does and can enlighten me (and tell me what they called a chicken coop while you're at it).

Let's just assume for the sake of the story that she might be all right or she might not. She has no way to know. It's not the sort of thing you want to count on, although she and her sisters have been living on the edge since birth already, but the problem has become acute and immediate. If she has a son on the other hand, she can easily be named his trustee, and act on his behalf. She might be able to do the same thing for Collins, as she is acting on his behalf right now in the story, but that would only last until he dies.

If Mr. Collins dies first, then things become very bad. Wickham inherits straightaway, and all the evil that is George Wickham comes to pass. Keep in mind that Collins is the Heir Presumptive. If he has the bad sense to be dead when Bennet dies, he is no longer the heir, and his wife is no longer entitled to anything at all, not even a pension from Hunsford. She would literally be thrown out into the hedgerows; or more likely her uncle's house in Cheapside, but she would hate to impose on them.

So with two potential scenarios, one definitely bad and the other probably bad, she makes the best choice she can. Her original rant about her chances of success was actually pessimistic and not exactly accurate because she was angry and not very amenable to arithmetic. If she has time for two pregnancies her odds of success are between 50-75%, so it's a not unreasonable chance to take, considering the disparity in outcomes between the two paths. I'm supposing some kind of lingering disease in Collins, so he might die tomorrow or might live a decade. Not exact science even today.

You can assume that she came to a better understanding with all of Darcy's notes, but her given path still seems like the least bad option for her. She has forced her father to liberate some funds, which she can combine with whatever she saves from the living, and she might not be too badly off.

You can presume that she has done some investigation into the cost of living, since she has been staring at losing the living for several months. I did the math back in The Cliffs of Hertfordshire, (see Talk to the Frog) and with £2000 from her father, the bulk of her mother's allowance for a year, and whatever she liberated from the living, she probably would not be badly off. She would have to work; but of course you can see that she's not opposed to that these days. You can easily imagine the Gardiners helping set her up like I discussed in Letters from Cheapside, so her choice is more rational than it sounds.

* * *

 **How are they spending so much time together? Where is Mrs. Hewes all this time?** Etc.

It's not as obvious as you might think, but only 6 days have elapsed. Darcy appeared on Friday, and it's now Thursday. The two have met a grand total of 5 times, including both the supper and the original eavesdropping. They have spent maybe 3-4 hours together total. Mrs. Hewes just wasn't around the first 3 times by chance (2 have been with her poultry). For the supper, let's just presume she did not want to join that and made other arrangements (she does have other entertainments available to her – oops, spoiler).

* * *

 **Propriety is out the window?**

Let's just say they're a bit off the rails but not as far as you might think. We're used to Elizabeth being a maiden, but she is a respectable married woman, in her own home with her husband in attendance. Their topics of discussion are wildly out of the usual, but things like compromise and the like just don't apply; and nobody will ever know what they talk about. I suspect Darcy could probably move into the parsonage for a month without technically breaking propriety. It's even safer than his stay at Netherfield, which was with a man and his unmarried sister; so technically, there is nothing wrong with his visit. It would be completely aboveboard and unremarkable if he was visiting Collins.

Also, remember it was a man's world. Darcy could take three mistresses and have them all live in the parsonage and most of society wouldn't think much of it. The Regency society, particularly at his level let a lot of things pass for men, so Darcy's fine.

I presume Elizabeth's reputation might take a hit from being seen with him, but it would depend on rumors spreading of them being in compromising positions or suspicions of infidelity. Those might materially affect her sisters, or Georgiana, but it's hard to say. Elizabeth beat that subject to death a couple chapters ago.

Marriage seemed to be the secret sauce that absolved all sins, and Elizabeth is a respectable married woman. From that standpoint, from a propriety perspective, her sisters are probably better off with her in the parsonage with Darcy hanging about all day than they were in Netherfield, hosted by two single gentlemen and one married and one unmarried sister.

Keep in mind that there is nobody in Hunsford willing to tell what actually happened to her. Like most abuse victims, she keeps the abuse a closely guarded secret because the shame would mostly fall on her. That's just the way it was (and still is in much of the world today). The servants are mostly loyal in the first place because Lizzy treated them well, and also silenced by implicit and assumed threats, presumably backed up by Lady Catherine. Lizzy has kept her secret even from Lady Catherine, so the number of people that can spill is small.

This whole thing has been kind of mad and whirlwind anyway, so maybe they haven't thought all the way through it, but I don't think they're as far off the rails as you might think.

* * *

 **Why not get help? The Gardiners are reasonably rich and powerful in the tradesman's world, etc.**

I don't think I can overstate how far abuse victims will go to hide the abuse. The psychology of abuse is frankly beyond me, and I can't really study it because it makes me want to kill people, but it IS well established fact. It is very unlikely she would put her troubles on another soul, no matter how dependable and amiable. There are no conditions under which she would tell any of her sisters, and her aunt and uncle would only be slightly more likely. She would always worry about her troubles spilling out on others. That's the reason she shut out her sisters, and Aunt Gardiner. Her parents… need I say more. Her clergyman… need I say more. She would absolutely bottle it up until there was no chance to do anything else. I am sure of it, because it happens all the time, even today.

The fire irons response is unfortunately the exception, not the rule. I used it in this story because I'm a male writer and that's the sort of thing we like to see. The branding of Collins' ass with a red-hot iron is just a nice touch.

OK, enough aimless rambling. Back to the story!


	13. Ducklings

Ducklings! That's what we looked like; four little ducklings, all in a row. That was an analogy, and I was just a bit proud of myself for coming up with it. A year prior to that day, I would not have known or cared what an analogy was. Now I was using one to order my thoughts, which were still a little jumbled but becoming hopefully more rational over time. Boy, would Mary love to hear me say that!

My fellow ducklings and I had just been through a very trying year, with governesses and tutors and masters and lessons and music and drawing and dancing and _deportment_ from dawn to dark and hardly any fun at all. We were only allowed into Meryton once a week, and closely supervised. We were allowed to the monthly assemblies, but Papa watched us like a hawk the entire time, and Mama was not allowed to speak to anyone on any subject that included one of us. After all of that over the course of a year complete, we basically had ducklings. Four little ducklings that all looked and acted and spoke and moved and behaved and comported just _exactly_ as all ladies should. We were demure and polite, well‑spoken and kind, well‑dressed and elegant. We all had a few _accomplishments_ to boast of, but we had all now been cut and measured and hammered and forged and doused and flattened and molded and filed into the shape of _proper young ladies_ , such that I doubt a stranger could even tell us apart. If one of us happened to have a suitor, and we switched brides at the last moment, I am uncertain he would even notice, or be overly concerned if he did.

Out front naturally was Jane, as was right and proper according to the myriad rules of propriety and civility and decorum. Once the eldest, always the eldest! Jane could easily pass as the Mama Duck if she had a bit more assertiveness, but no casual observer would notice. She was calm and serene and gentle and kind just like she always had been, but she seldom truly smiled now. What fun she had in life had taken a terrible blow when the man I like to think of as 'Bingley the Bastard' (although a proper duckling would never say such a thing, or the even worse things I think but will not write), broke her heart. He and his pernicious sisters and his stick up the backside friend abandoned her without a word. I never knew if it was because of my shame, or if they were already planning to leave, but I believe the latter (another word I would not have used a year prior). To this day, I do not believe the Netherfield herd even knows what happened that terrible night. My father managed to mostly keep it hushed up, although he had to practically put a muzzle on my mother to accomplish it, and certain of the Netherfield servants required money to keep quiet, and threats to keep from asking for more money. I was not supposed to know that, but proper ladies are quiet as church mice, which makes us very adept at eavesdropping, should we decide to pursue the sport.

After the night of the ball and my shame, came Lizzy's _terrible in every way marriage_ a few weeks later. I do believe that broke whatever was left of Jane's spirit. After that, she resembled a mirror more than anything else. She just reflected whatever the person talking to her wanted to see. In a full year, I did not see a single display of anything save amiability on her countenance, and I doubt anyone else could either. A stranger might see whatever quality attracted Mr. Bingley in the beginning, but it would not take long to see that her depth had been leeched out of her.

Mary followed Jane, and I had to sheepishly admit that the year of non-stop lessons had quite suited her. She now played the pianoforte _beautifully_ , and we all truly enjoyed her talent; where before we had to mostly avoid it to maintain our ears and our sanity. Father banned Fordyce from the house, and I think in the end, after much cajoling, Mary was happy to have something to replace it. She certainly had more of Papa's attention now that Lizzy was gone; but whether that was a good thing in the end or not remained to be seen.

Papa had been changed by the ordeal, and nobody thought he had changed for the better. None would admit it, but I know he _forced_ Lizzy to marry that horrid parson. Lizzy pretends all is well and tried to keep knowledge of it from us, but for the past year she had sent the blandest letters ever written and said nothing at all about anything at all. What more proof could you possibly want that something was terribly amiss than Lizzy losing every bit of her impertinence?

Next in our little line was Kitty. She got tarred with my brush at the Netherfield ball, and she suffered as much as I did though she was not nearly as guilty. In fact, she was not guilty of anything at all except for sisterly affection. At the time, I thought I was doing exactly as I ought to. I of course knew it went against the rules of society, and definitely against what Mary and Lizzy and Jane tried to teach me, but it was ever so much fun, and I was following _exactly_ where my mother had been pushing me for my entire life, so what could be wrong? Why should I _not_ marry a handsome, well‑mannered and gentlemanly officer?

It turned out everything could be wrong, and with one foolish act by one foolish girl on one foolish night, I destroyed all the hopes for all my sisters; not that they were all that wonderful to start with. Jane was now three and twenty, nearly as on the shelf as Charlotte Lucas, who was now eight and twenty. Jane had not had a serious suitor, or any suitor at all for that matter since Netherfield, and she seemed resigned to spinsterhood. Mama's constant lamentations had become completely nonsensical; for it _did in fact_ seem to be the case that Jane _could_ be so beautiful for nothing… all because of me.

I only hoped against hope that somehow I could redeem myself and my sisters, because my heart had been broken into tiny little pieces and crushed underfoot by Lizzy's misfortune and who knew if the rest of us would survive. We certainly would not if we depended on Papa, as he seemed to have lost whatever grip on his sanity he was keeping. I had managed to scratch out a few talents, including a surprisingly beautiful singing voice according to my sisters, and I think I need not be terribly embarrassed by my efforts at the quill.

Our sisterly connections had changed completely as well. Now Jane and I shared a room, and as like as not one or the other of us cried into our pillows from time to time. Kitty had quite blossomed under Mary's tutelage, and Mary came out of her shell to become someone I loved to be around; so in the end they had been good for each other. Kitty and Mary were as inseparable as Jane and I, and everyone was content with the arrangement. Two little pairs of ducklings! I had to wonder about our propensity to pair up (yet another new vocabulary word), and thought with nearly immeasurable sadness of how isolated Mary must have felt before Lizzy left; always the odd one out; always the overlooked one. Perhaps not _everything_ about the previous year had been bad.

So there we were. Our little duck march came to a surprisingly quick end. It was only about half a mile from the stage stop to our eventual destination, so it took almost no time at all. Jane knocked on the door and waited… and waited… and waited. Once, twice, thrice she knocked, and yet we waited.

We finally decided to walk around to the other side of the building, and that's where we finally saw the thing we had all been hoping and praying and wanting and waiting and looking for over the last year. Our poor little duck governess in the sky I am sure looked at us in censure, because we did not care. We all let out very loud, bloodcurdling and most unducklike screams at the same time.

" **LIZZZZZZZZYYYYYY** "

We all saw her at the same time, and losing all that remained of our duckness, we hitched up our skirts and ran like little hoydens exiting a burning building being chased by wolves (perhaps I overdid the lesson on analogies).

When we first saw her, Lizzy was curiously enough _feeding poultry_ with a basket on her hip, wearing what looked like a prosperous farmer's dress and an apron, with her hair in a simple bun and a very plain straw bonnet. She had chickens, ducks and geese and a pig as far as I could tell; and even a goat wandering about in the fields.

Lizzy dropped the basket unceremoniously on the ground and started running just like we were. We all met in the middle of her field like the clashing of two great armies, hugging and kissing and screaming and crying. Papa before Netherfield might well have chuckled and commented on the fact that no two words of sense were spoken together for many minutes. Papa after Netherfield would have scolded us and sent us back to our studies.

"Lizzy! Lizzy! Lizzy! Lizzy! Lizzy! Lizzy!"

"Jane, Mary, Kitty, Lydia! What are you doing here? This is so wonderful! We are all together again! How did this happen? Where are your things? What are you doing? Come inside! No wait, stand back and let me look at you! No wait! Wait! Oh, I shall go all distracted."

I have no idea what other nonsense we all managed to babble over the next five minutes. Her poultry put up quite a fuss, but they had nothing on our duck brigade in the way of squawking. We all started talking and crying and crying and crying and talking, and it was wonderful in every way. Finally, all the sisters were together again, and by the looks of things, we might be so for some time. What in the world was Papa thinking? For the moment, I cared not for his sanity. All of my sisters were together, and for the moment, all was right with the world.


	14. Waistcoat

I was _not_ eavesdropping this time! Truly, I was not! Not even close! I _had_ managed to snag my waistcoat on a passing branch while walking through the woods to the parsonage, so when I got to the edge of the path, I naturally had to pause to fix it.

Even after all the confidences and awkward moments of the previous week, I knew that I was still far from being out of the doghouse with Elizabeth. In fact, I thought all I had accomplished to date was to be allowed to move away from the corner of the doghouse where she kept her bear trap. In a month, I might be able to approach the door, and for the moment, I wanted _nothing_ to go wrong.

Naturally, whilst repairing the damage to my attire to the best of my abilities, I saw she was feeding her poultry again. Not wanting to disturb such an important activity for the third time in the six days since I arrived (only six days… a lifetime). Of course, I was frankly a little bit frightened of her geese. I thought it prudent to wait and just watch her for a while. I am absolutely certain it could have been no more than a minute or two; or, well ten at the most.

I was still well out of sight, working my nerve up to approach Elizabeth again when I saw _all four_ of her sisters walk around the corner of the parsonage. I thought it the better part of either valor or wisdom to allow them their reunion without my presence. Perhaps I should have turned around and returned to Rosings, which I admit would have been the most gentlemanly thing to do, but I was rooted to the spot as usual.

The remaining Bennet sisters looked _different_ , as if they had gone through some momentous changes over the past year. Perhaps, it was not just Elizabeth that had endured a difficult time. Gone were the nearly constant giggles and flirtations manners of the two youngest and the constantly disapproving look of the middle. Sadly as well, gone were the constant smiles of the eldest. They all appeared to be everything that is mild and proper with respect to deportment for any young lady. There was no skipping, jumping, exclamations or anything else I had come to expect as a natural part of the Bennet character.

Of course, all of that fell out the window as soon as they saw Elizabeth. I knew from her reports that they had been completely disconnected for a year, but it did not seem to matter in the least. I do not think I have ever seen five such happy people in my life, and I once again seriously wondered about their father's sanity. Why had he kept the sisters apart, or why had Elizabeth? Did any of the sisters know the true state of things at the parsonage? Had they any notion of the endeavor they were about to land in the middle of? And of course the big question, why had he sent all four at once, going against his agreement? Was his health in even more precipitous decline? I did not know, but was determined to find out.

There was such joyous screeching and fluttering that I was actually quite jealous. Nobody in my family had ever greeted anyone else with that level of joy in five generations at least, as far as I could tell. That the sisters had all endured _something_ was clear. In fact, it must have even been beyond the hints of scandal I had heard about from Elizabeth. Perhaps they had been subjected to a very strict governess or been in a French prison camp. Perhaps their father had _finally_ decided to do his duty and make them actually marriageable. For the moment they seemed to be able to just feel the joy of reunion.

After a few minutes, things settled down and they all by mutual agreement seemed to be willing to simply discuss the particulars of their visit. The sisters had apparently left their trunks at the stage stop. Why their father had made them travel post was yet another mystery, but at least that was something I could take care of if I could discreetly get Elizabeth's attention. She did not know I was about just yet, since I had been _very_ careful to stay quiet and out of sight.

It was therefore a bit of a surprise to me when Elizabeth raised her voice just the tiniest bit and said, "Come along Mr. Darcy. I believe we are soon to be in need of _such a great tall fellow_!"

I actually smiled at that one. Apparently I was not the only one that could quote fragments of our discussions from Netherfield word for word. I still had no idea how she always knew I was about, but I could canvass that subject another time. For the moment, I thought I thought to try my best to at least be agreeable to the sisters, because they all looked at me with the same look you would give a fox sitting in the middle of your poultry with one half-eaten bird in its mouth and five more dead ones scattered about.

Apparently schooling your countenance was a talent that came naturally to the Bennets, because I only saw the look for a moment, before they almost instantly and simultaneously became thoroughly indistinguishable from any collection of genteel, well educated and proper ladies of the ton. By the time I got to where they were gathered; their backs were straight, their hands were in front of them, and I imagined they were basically daring me to either find something to criticize, or step even an inch out of line. Nobody who did not know them very well would read their countenance now, but I had seen their thoughts before they managed to school their expressions.

For her part, I thought I saw a small look of amusement on Elizabeth's face, which was the first bit of the old Elizabeth I thought I had witnessed since arriving in Kent, and I was unspeakably happy to see it. She may not have been _enjoying_ my discomfort per-se, but she was deriving something from it. Well actually, forget that; I do believe she was enjoying it, but I did not know if it was malicious or just impertinent. I chose to think it was the latter. I suspected I had better be on my _best_ behavior, so I gave four proper bows, "Miss Bennet! Miss Mary! Miss Catherine! Miss Lydia!"

All the ladies curtsied _very_ properly, motions that would not be amiss if they were being presented to the queen. The youngest, Lydia, in particular also gave me a bit of a stare-down, and I suspect she was surprised I could both remember all the names, and attach each name to the right lady. Of course, I was not going to tell them that I was not entirely certain I could when I started. They had conveniently arranged themselves in proper order of precedence, and I just remembered Lydia was the youngest and Mary the third eldest so it was just process of elimination.

The second youngest, Catherine, said, "I go by Kitty."

I was surprised when the youngest, Lydia, said, "Kitty" with a tone and look that any governess would envy, and the rest of the sisters looked to Miss Lydia in what appeared to be a quest for guidance. Was it possible that the sister who had fallen the most had risen back to lead? Miss Bennet seemed inclined to leave the office to Miss Lydia. I assumed Miss Lydia was thinking that Catherine was being too forward in her address, and I thought I should help the poor girl out of her distress, if indeed either of them were feeling such.

"Miss Lydia, may I presume you are correcting Miss Catherine for being too forward?"

The youngest looked at me carefully, and a bit uncertainly, then finally nodded.

I asked carefully, "May I address the issue, not as anyone with any authority mind you, but merely someone who has been in society more?"

The ladies were all now looking at me as they might some new and previously unknown species of animal that they were trying to decide whether to kill skin and eat; or take home for a pet.

I took their silence as permission and continued, "Miss Catherine, your sister is correct that it was just a bit forward to suggest a nickname, but it was not a particularly egregious maneuver and nobody but the greatest stickler, such as my aunt, would ever criticize you for it, and frankly anyone who would is probably not worth knowing. To your sister's point though, I will say that _I have not earned_ the right to use such a familiar name, so for the moment I prefer to give you the respect you are due by calling you 'Miss Catherine' until such a time as I may have become well enough acquainted to use the shorter name. Of course, at seventeen years, I suspect you may well outgrow the name for all but your family and most intimate acquaintances soon anyway, but regardless, I shall address you as you prefer."

The young lady nodded, apparently both confused that I was even present, let alone talking with her and aware of her age; and perhaps happy with my explanation. I looked forward to getting to know her a little bit better.

"Miss Lydia, I see you are trying your best to insure the family acts with decorum, particularly when you think yourself in hostile territory. _That is what you think my presence is, correct?_ You need not answer, as it was a rude and forward question, but I do want to assure you that I completely understand your position. I must admit, as your sister has rightly pointed out more than once, my actions have not been those of a gentleman. I do however hope to improve, and perhaps over time to earn your approbation through my improvement in character."

I gave Elizabeth a glance, and there was not the slightest doubt that a touch of amusement was creeping into her countenance. Perhaps, I could defuse the bear trap with a stick. The rest of the sisters had finally lost their countenances, and were staring at me in open confusion. I had to remember that my Elizabeth had several days, and several very uncomfortable conversations, to adjust to my change in deportment, but the sisters had not. They only remember the stiff and ill‑mannered brute I had been in Hertfordshire.

I thought I might as well continue with trying to establish a different idea in their minds. I thought the best strategy was to shock them with the change all at once, and then let them recover.

I continued, "I can see that all of you have had some schooling over the last year. I will not presume to judge it successful or not, or even a good idea or not, but I must say that you all carry yourselves very well… as well as any lady I know. Presumptuous as it sounds, I would also like you to know that I am at your disposal, should I be able to render any assistance whatsoever."

Now the youngest four had lost most of their polished demeanor and were simply staring at me as they would a blue calf or two headed monster; or worse yet, Bingley. Elizabeth was sporting the first genuine albeit small smile I had seen since I arrived in Kent. Perhaps it was the first she had experienced in some time, and if so, I was insufferably proud of myself for raising it.

Miss Jane finally exerted herself and said with the closest thing to a frown or a grimace I could imagine on her face, "I find your presence here… surprising, Mr. Darcy."

So, not out of the doghouse with the Bennet sisters just yet! The eldest Miss Bennet knew all about my behavior the previous year, and the only thing keeping me from believing she had worked out my interference in Bingley's affairs was my unshakable belief that she was much too kind to believe it of me.

I gave a little chuckle as well, and said, "I am afraid Elizabeth finds it surprising as well, but here I am and here I intend to remain for a time. As a matter of fact, this is my best day in Kent so far!"

Miss Mary surprised me by asking curiously, "How so?"

Elizabeth looked at me with the same curiosity… oh, she was definitely finding this whole thing diverting, so I answered with a bit of a grin.

Retrieving my pocket-watch I glanced at the time and said, "I have been in company with Elizabeth today for a full ten minutes at least, and she has not asked me to get out of her sight and preferably out of the county forevermore even once!"

All four sisters gasped at the impertinence of the statement, while Elizabeth even had an almost smile on her face. Miss Mary asked timidly, "Is that unusual?"

I replied, "She usually averages about one such declaration for every five minutes of conversation, so I am quite well ahead today. I must credit you ladies for my reprieve, and you may be assured of my gratitude."

They looked like they were quite understandably getting more confused by the minute, and Miss Catherine said, "How is it that you use her Christian name when she is apparently trying to get rid of you on a daily basis?"

I gave a smile. The Bennet sisters had been filed into perfect gentlewomen, but the behavior was not engrained enough to make them act with perfect decorum at all times. The impertinence of the question was refreshing after a season in town. I was liking the Bennet sisters more and more, and beginning to suspect that if they all truly did wish to be married, Lady Catherine would not be necessary in the least. Finding suitors for four such delightful sisters, with improved manners and deportment when it was necessary, and without the obnoxious presence of their mother, should take me a few months at most, particularly if I helped them out just a tiny bit. The biggest problem was going to come down to sorting the wheat from the chaff.

I looked directly at Elizabeth, and asked, "May I answer?"

Miss Catherine asked, "Why do you ask Lizzy?"

I answered carefully, "Because it is her story to tell or not as she pleases."

Elizabeth nodded her permission, and I continued, "Elizabeth will need to give you all the particulars, for it is not my story to tell, but suffice to say that she does _not_ particularly like the name 'Collins' for reasons I suspect you are all aware of; and neither 'Miss' nor 'Bennet' makes any sense. We have agreed to simply use her Christian name whilst not in formal company, and I presumed that I could treat you all as close acquaintances, though I have not quite earned the privilege. Perhaps in a year I will have improved enough in her estimation to get her to use my given name."

Elizabeth gave a small laugh, and said, "Let us not get ahead of ourselves Mr. Darcy. I did not even know your given name until your aunt said it last evening."

Surprised, I started to give her leave to call me anything she liked, but she gave a small shake. I assumed that she preferred to keep me at arm's length, but since I had managed to extract a laugh from her, even if only a short one, I was most satisfied with my day's work thus far.

Miss Catherine looked at me suspiciously, and said, "Are we expected to be in company with you often Mr. Darcy?"

I simply nodded and said, "Elizabeth and I have certain… affairs we have been discussing this past week. Your sister has also been slowly learning that I am a stubborn and implacable man, so it seems likely, and besides…"

With the hook set, I paused for Elizabeth's reaction. She took the bait and asked, " _And besides_ , sir?"

I continued, "I must at the very least be here to introduce you to my sister who I have taken the liberty of inviting to your supper tomorrow."

And with that and a little chuckle, I gestured to suggest perhaps we should retire to the parsonage and start preparing for their stay, while Elizabeth had a look of either shock or annoyance, or most likely both on her face. I suspected she would be back setting her bear trap momentarily, but she did look like amongst the annoyance, there was a tiny bit of amusement. Springing my sister on her was probably a bit cruel, but making the arrangements had seemed right and natural when I did it, and we never seemed to be able to have a conversation that did not leave one or both of us beat into the ground feeling like we wanted to die. Thus, I had simply never had the opportunity to ask properly, so I had taken a risk. If she was annoyed, it would be neither the first nor the last time.

I doubted very much that Elizabeth had been planning to have me about the parsonage for the entire day, but in this case I thought I might be of use. Rosings would not collapse overnight without my review, Anne would be neither more nor less inclined to marry me and the material chances of me offering for here would still be zero as they always had been.

Borrowing a trick from my cousin the colonel, I snatched Elizabeth's hand and attached it to my arm and herded the sisters toward the parsonage, still chattering happily; much to my satisfaction.

Elizabeth seemed surprised when she found her hand attached to my arm, but its presence felt right. It was where her hand belonged, and I could not make myself repent my action. She, strangely enough, made no effort to remove it, nor even seemed discomforted by it, which made me happy… very happy indeed.


	15. Cleanup

Well, what a day for surprises!

First I got _all four_ of my sisters wandering in from who knows where for who knows what reason? Apparently Bennet could no longer even keep track of which particular daughters were to be sent to which location. I readily admit that it was the _most_ pleasant surprise of the past year, or perhaps of my entire lifetime. My sisters were all together, and the world was full of possibility.

Lydia somehow seemed to be the leader of the sisters now, and they seemed to have formed new pairs in my absence. Lydia even carried a message from my former father, which she whispered to me as we left the poultry, indicating that I should expect the papers he had promised on the morrow from Uncle Gardiner.

At that very moment, as Lydia showed that she seemed to be all grown up, I began to realize how _horribly selfish_ I had been for the past year. I had been so wrapped up in my own troubles, some of which were self‑inflicted and some not; that I had blocked my sisters out of my life entirely. I started the habit of writing them the blandest of letters clear back in January, right from my first missive after the wedding. Over the year, I became increasingly afraid of what might happen to them if I exposed them to the _truth_. As the truth became progressively worse, I became progressively less forthcoming; and I had not started off well in the first place. The nature of the marriage allowed me no room to do anything else, particularly as all of my attention was being spent on surviving with some part of my soul intact. Besides that, there was always the chance one or both of my parents read my letters, and I had endured quite enough of their interference. I imagine there was some chance my father would have helped me if I had asked, but more likely he would have just instructed me to do my duty, and entered a discussion with Mr. Collins on the best ways to insure that.

My sisters of course had their own troubles, what with the Netherfield party's abandonment and Lydia's shame; so they in turn I believe were afraid to burden me, so they replied with letters that could put Mr. Collins to sleep.

From that beginning, we had somehow established boredom and tedium as our mode of communication, to the point where my own sisters had less connection with me than an indifferent acquaintance. Right now, Mr. Darcy, of all people, knew more of my business than all of my sisters, my aunts and uncles and my parents combined. I was still quite confused as to why he was interested in such an office, and why I had allowed it. However, for the moment I was prepared to go along with the scheme to see where it went.

I belatedly realized I could have corrected the connection with my sisters at any time if I had simply trusted in them, but I had not had any idea how to begin. I could have sent a letter privately through Charlotte, or I could have asked for help or assistance from Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, but my need to avoid spreading my problems to others prevented any such action. It certainly would have _never_ thought to discuss it with anybody but Jane, but from the looks of things, Lydia would have been a better bet, if I could have made myself do it… or even imagined the possibility. I had seen the relative deportment between the ways the two looked at Mr. Darcy. Lydia stared him down as if daring him to tempt her wrath. Jane just looked at him in perplexity, which come to think of it is what I did most of the time.

I thought by the end of the first half-year, surely my sisters would hate me for my neglect, as I occasionally felt that I hated myself. I could not even do the most basic duty as a wife, and my sisters must have thought I abandoned them to their own fate without a second thought. Their own fate _obviously_ had included some real attempts at schooling, and I so perhaps once Bennet had discarded the most troublesome of his daughters, he had decided _better late than never_ and tried to rescue the rest. If so, I would have to give him a tiny bit of credit.

Of course, it only took about two seconds for all of my thoughts and worries and concerns to fly out the window and we were sisters again, laughing and crying and _together_. I vowed at that moment that they would never return to Longbourn while their father lived, although I was no longer so certain I would emulate my mother by getting them married off. Lydia and Kitty were still much too young for marriage, and we might now have a few choices in life. Perhaps Mr. Darcy might offer some advice or even assistance, since he seemed stuck to the parsonage like a barnacle. He was a well-educated man, with apparently no other pressing duties. I even wondered if it would be worthwhile to reacquaint Jane with Mr. Bingley which seemed like it would be easy enough to arrange, but I had no idea how she felt about him; and my opinion of him was only marginally better than my opinion of his sisters.

I had been thoroughly surprised by the look and deportment of my sisters. The change was obvious at a glance when they came around the corner of the parsonage. They were quite possibly the most prim and proper young ladies I had ever had the pleasure; or was it displeasure; of seeing. Certainly in a public place they were nothing like the Bennet ladies of my memory, and I was not entirely convinced I approved the change, despite how much I had ranted and raved about their behavior previously. Obviously Lydia's shame was beyond the pale, but did we _have_ to destroy every bit of liveliness in the process? In the end, it did not matter though. They were my sisters, and any injuries would be forgiven for at least for the next hour, until we could begin the serious business of creating new injuries.

The next surprising thing was not really a surprise, as much as a revelation. I was only mildly surprised to learn that Mr. Darcy had gone quite barking mad, and perhaps he stayed in Kent instead of Derbyshire because of its convenient proximity to his next home in Bedlam. The man who so openly sneered at my sisters before now greeted them much as I imagine he must greet the ladies of the first circles; or perhaps even better. He almost treated them as people who were genuinely important to him; but of course that was ridiculous. That was all supposition, and in my less charitable moments I thought most of the ladies of the first circles must be like Caroline Bingley. Perhaps instead of going mad, he had just finally come to his senses. It was most peculiar, but after the last week, well in truth today was only the sixth day since his arrival, I could see that he and I had some kind of odd connection; but I could not in the least define it.

When I saw his cordiality to my sisters, I also had another idea that perhaps he was not quite as mad as it sounded. He seemed to like my sisters, outside of the presence of their parents. I had just nearly flayed him alive about his lack of diligence in marrying and producing an heir. The very next day, the four loveliest ladies in England fell out of the sky, practically on his lap. He had mentioned a plan, so perhaps the man had settled on Jane! Of course, Lydia and Kitty were much too young for him, but Mary was well of age as well. So now, he was clearly in want of a wife; at least two beautiful young women had appeared as if by magic; their manners were now refined and I could only imagine they had some accomplishments. Yes, Mr. Darcy may well be eyeing my sisters with an eye towards courtship. Life is so much better when it makes sense, and that hypothesis explained all of his behavior admirably. I wondered which sister he favored.

Those thoughts, and his peculiar behavior were pleasurable enough to put an actual smile on my face, and I am quite certain he noticed and made me pay for it. In the end, I still did not understand him, but thought that someday I might; or at least whichever sister he chose could explain him to me.

All of these thoughts were tumbling around and around as Mr. Darcy greeted my sisters with a mixture of cordiality and familiarity, both of which actually amused me. There you have it. I admit it. I, for the first time in a year was amused, and the source of my amusement was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Perhaps, he did have some uses aside from being very tall, and utterly brutal in his ability to make me face up to my own character and he to his.

I eventually decided that if I were to have the slightest hope of serving a meal on the morrow for nine people without poisoning anybody, I had better get to it. When I invited Lady Catherine on an impulse on the previous evening, I had most assuredly not planned for such a debacle, but after so much time being downcast, I decided I would let my courage rise to the occasion. We still had much to do, so I nodded my sisters back toward the parsonage so we could make a start.

As we walked, I watched my sisters in curiosity and there were certainly a lot of changes. Lydia was still Lydia somewhere underneath the manners that appeared to have been painted on her with a hammer, but now she seemed to possess a quiet strength; unless of course I was reading entirely too much into a few words and glances. I thought that the old saw about adversity making us stronger if it did not kill us might have some grain of truth; but the poor girl came very close to matching Icarus' fate in the process. I wondered how Mr. Darcy's sister fared. Was she strengthened by the experience or harmed? Would he allow the two girls to know of their mutual proximity to disaster? Would his sister like and accept mine?

I have no idea how it happened, as he did not offer, nor did I accept, but I found my hand attached to Mr. Darcy's arm as we were walking back to the parsonage to begin preparations for an extended stay. Rather than being as discomposed as I might have supposed, I actually found it comforting, and maybe even enjoyable. It had been quite some time since I had occasion to think well of any member of the male sex, and was astounded to find that I did not think as poorly of him as I once had. I still had not the vaguest idea why we treated each other as confidants, but was content for the moment with the uncertainty and ambiguity of our relationship. He had certainly shown himself to be made of sterner stuff than I had originally believed. With that in mind, I thought that as he was still here, I may as well talk to him. With my sisters all returned to me, it was probably about time for me to engage in a tiny little bit of impertinence, just to show them that some part of their former sister survived.

Still holding his arm, I looked up directly at him and asked, "Mr. Darcy, I would wonder if _all_ of the men in your family are insane; or is it really just you?"

He gave me a small grin, the same as he had given while talking with my sisters earlier, and said, "I cannot vouch for all of the men in my family Elizabeth, so I imagine I will simply have to introduce them to you one at a time, and take your opinion."

That sounded... well, to tell the truth, I had no idea how it sounded, so I said, "It seems an unlikely scenario, so perhaps over the next year you might make a survey and report the results."

Not one to be dissuaded, he said, "There are not all that many men in my family, so the task may not be as daunting as suppose. In fact, you will make a good start tomorrow when I bring my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam to supper."

I was so surprised by the statement I stopped abruptly, but he started me moving again by simply clamping my hand against his side, while I either fumed or laughed or considered scratching his eyes out.

He continued, "Do not be alarmed Elizabeth, he is after all a _second son_ , so he is of little importance, and his father, the Earl of Matlock will hardly notice his absence… unless of course, the earl joins us. Perhaps I should have invited him as well?"

I fumed in silence for a moment, before figuring out the latter part was almost certainly in jest. At last, I said, "Will _you_ be inviting any _other_ relatives to _my_ supper, sir?"

He just grinned, and shook his head.

Now I decided he was deriving entirely too much amusement from my discomfiture for his own good, and I thought to put him in his place, but had not the slightest idea how to do so. As I said, he seemed either more resilient or more stubborn than I had supposed.

My sisters were looking at me in a mixture of confusion and amusement, and it was difficult to see which emotion would rule them, so I simply decided to let it lie. Once you have ten people to table in a dining room the size of the doghouse Mr. Darcy was going to spend the rest of our acquaintance in, what was one or two more. I should hardly notice.

When we entered the parsonage, I took everyone to the parlor and started discussing what needed to be done.

"Sisters, while you are here, and I believe it will be for some time, I would not like any of you going out alone until you are more familiar with the area, and perhaps not even then. I have no reason to think there is any danger, but I am responsible for you now. Will you agree?"

They all simply nodded, so I moved on to practical matters.

"I have had the upstairs closed off for some time, so all the rooms will need cleaning and airing. I do not keep any servants, so we will all need to earn our keep. Is that agreeable?"

They were surprised by that, and I set out to calm them before any undue alarm set in.

"We are not destitute sisters. I have simply chosen not to keep servants for such a simple household. I have my reasons, but you need fear nothing except a little bit of work, and it will not kill you to learn to cook and clean. As you can see, I have survived it."

They all were just in the process of nodding acceptance, with Lydia actually smiling as if I had announced I kept a room full of ribbons in the back; so I at that point began to think that I had a lot to learn about my sisters.

Lydia, apparently the new Bennet sister spokesman, asked, "So we are to do _useful things_ _?_ _How Wonderful_ _!_ I cannot wait to begin. _"_

That left me wondering what they had been doing and with whom for the past year if cooking and cleaning seemed an improvement, but I thought that subject could keep for another day. We needed to set ourselves to the tasks of visiting a few shops in the village including the butcher and baker, bringing their trunks back, and otherwise making the rest of the parsonage livable again.

Before we moved on to the specific tasks that needed doing, Mrs. Hewes and Sargent MacDonald came in from the direction of the book room where Sergeant MacDonald had no doubt been attending to my husband while trying not to stare at Mrs. Hewes, so I introduced them all around.

Much to my surprise, Mr. Darcy went over to Mrs. Hewes, bowed deeply and said, "Mrs. Hewes, I am _very_ happy to see you. I had not known you left Rosings, and I was dismayed at the manner of it. I have not strangled my aunt yet, but it was a very near thing, and her fate is in your hands."

My sisters and I gasped, while Mrs. Hewes laughed like I had rarely seen her do. She was in general a very even tempered lady, but she had been one of the few to witness some, but not all, of the debacle with Mr. Collins. Even from a distance, it had taken a toll on her as well as me.

Mrs. Hewes looked at Mr. Darcy in clear amusement and the biggest smile I had ever seen on her face.

She said, "I will hear none of that you little rapscallion. I have been in good hands with Elizabeth and the Sergeant to watch over me. I have been precisely where I needed and wished to be, doing precisely what I wanted to do. I knew you would set things to rights when next you came to visit, and it did not even take you a day once you learned the situation. I trust you have overcome the difficulties of this year? Flooding and fires and highwaymen from what I hear! I dearly missed you at Easter, young man."

We all watched in amusement as Mr. Darcy answered cordially, and gave an accounting of his year at Pemberley, which did sound a bit on the harrowing side as well. I had never realized just how many people depended on his judgment, and just how badly things could go with such a large estate. His year had not been as bad as the year for myself or my sisters, but certainly bad enough.

Mr. Darcy looked at all of us with a bit of a grin and said, "Mrs. Hewes has known me since I was four years old. She has been known to administer bandages to skinned knees, hugs or pastries for a lonely boy, and occasionally the well-earned boxing of the ears. Sometimes, all three in rapid succession!"

We all just looked in amazement at this version of Mr. Darcy, and perhaps, just maybe, I thought he might work his way out of the doghouse eventually, should he still be so inclined. He was still a very confusing man, but after that day, he was no longer a vexing man. I doubted I would ever truly understand what made the both of us do what we did that week; but I did have to reluctantly admit to myself that when he went to do his duty, as I had _most painstakingly pointed out he must_ , that _I would miss him_.


	16. Poetry

_A/N: Afraid we just passed the threshold from Novella to Novel about 3 chapters back, so suck it up. You're reading a novel. I am so loving the thoughtful comments and reviews, so keep them coming. This particular story has a real resonance, quite beyond what I expected. Wade_

* * *

There was something noticeably odd about Lizzy. Of course, we all knew to expect that before we left Longbourn. One would expect a certain amount of oddness based on the circumstances of her marriage, and her subsequent letters seemed to prove the case. It was as if Mr. Collins wrote her letters for her, they were so bland and innocuous. I could not possibly believe anything could produce a year's worth of such dull letters except something extraordinarily bad. Even the pain of her forced marriage and her forced company with the stupidest man in England should have eventually worn off as she found a way to cope with her new situation, and stay out of the way of her husband as much as possible. I could well imagine her setting herself up her own parlor where he was banned, sending him to Rosings every five minutes to fawn on his patroness, and sending him to his garden the rest of the time so she only spent a few minutes in his company each day and had the rest of the time to herself. Or she might spend a large part of each day visiting parishioners, establishing her own society independent of her husband. She might even have made friends with the de Bourgh daughter and enjoyed her time that way. Those were what I expected, but those would have eventually produced a sensible letter. No, something _very very bad_ must have happened, and I was determined to find out from the moment I walked around the edge of the parsonage and saw her there among her poultry looking every bit the prosperous farmer's wife.

We were all diverted from any possible pursuits by the sheer joy of reunion, and we all were completely caught up in the moment for some time. There was laughter and tears and hugging and all else you would expect after a year apart, but eventually the excitement died down and I got my first unguarded look at her while she examined my sisters. _Something fundamental_ had been changed. Something had definitely been lost. The happy-go-lucky _girl_ seemed to be completely gone as if she had never existed. She was replaced with a _woman_ that was _hard and unyielding_. To be honest, I found her a bit frightening, but I could not put my finger on _why_. I thought of this as more of a visceral, instinctive reaction than a proper analysis; because she gave _nothing_ away with her countenance… I mean… nothing. I had once been the one person in the world who knew her the very best and was privy to all of her secrets. Now I did not know her at all. I felt the loss more keenly than I had ever felt the loss of Mr. Bingley, which was a trifle by comparison.

I had just barely managed to absorb the enormity of the change, when she completely shocked all of us by apparently conjuring _Mr. Darcy of all people_ from thin air. One moment there was not the slightest sign of him, and the next moment he was greeting my sisters as if they were his most cherished acquaintances. He had either the arrogance to chide my sisters on their deportment, or the kindness to ease their comfort after Lydia tried to do the same. It would be some time before I could hazard a guess as to which, but it was indeed perplexing.

I indicated my surprise at his presence, with him being the last man in the world I expected to encounter next to my sister Lizzy, and he entered on an even more perplexing explanation that apparently included his use of Lizzy's given name. I simply stared in confusion as he talked cordially to each of my sisters as if… as if… it was almost as if they were important to him; or at least their good opinions were. Perhaps he was looking forward to the day Lizzy was a respectable widow, which I had heard was not so very far in the future. Charlotte and I _had_ thought he stared at her quite a lot in admiration, although she just scoffed at us. Perhaps, he was back to stake his claim?

My ruminations were deferred for a while when both Lizzy and Mr. Darcy started herding us towards the parsonage, both at the same time, and both seemingly working together like a couple that had been shepherding children for a decade. I watched in amusement as he snagged Lizzy's hand to his arm, and caught a bit of perhaps surprise, perhaps confusion, perhaps approval in her eyes, but she did not object.

During the entire encounter, nearly everything he said _about_ Lizzy, and everything he said _to_ her was confusing, and I was determined to work it out as soon as I might.

During the short walk to the front door, he showed that he had a sense of humor deeply hidden, as he indicated he had invited his sister, some cousin and apparently an earl or maybe the Prince Regent to a supper. We all looked confused, so Lizzy explained that by some unparalleled and odd circumstances, she had managed to invite Lady Catherine to dine at the parsonage on the very next day. We all abruptly stopped at that unexpected news, but she simply told us to stop fretting; she was only a lady, and we were not intimidated by Lady Lucas, were we? Something told me that other than her sex, Lady Catherine would have nothing whatsoever in common with Lady Lucas, but Lizzy simply acted as if she invited the lady to the parsonage every week.

There was a very odd sort of communication between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. _Something_ had happened between last year and that day, as they now seemed to communicate things between themselves with nothing but a glance.

After we were all settled in the parlor, we were once again shocked by Mr. Darcy cordially greeting Lizzy's companion Mrs. Hews, whom we all adored instantly, and the story of their acquaintance was quite amusing. Once that task was complete, and Lizzy had given us our instructions for our safety and the news that we might be obliged to work for our keep, we set about the task of preparing for our stay.

Elizabeth thought for only a moment before dividing the sisters between the bedrooms. She oddly enough assigned Lydia and I to the master's bedroom, saying she had not stepped foot in it in some time, and something in her look told me she never would again. How she knew Lydia and I would share a bedroom was beyond me, but it suited us. Mary and Kitty could share another room leaving a spare for guests, or they could disperse themselves between the others. We all decided to pair up as we were accustomed to by now, and leave one room prepared for any of us to go to without question when we wanted to spend an evening or a night alone, or to handle any guests. All we needed were Charlotte and Maria to make our old group complete.

Mr. Darcy then showed yet a different side of himself. Lizzy just glanced at him to make sure he was watching her (of course), then glanced at a stool in the corner, and at a quilt that was hung over the front of the stairway, and a cabinet in the entryway. Mr. Darcy surprised us all by divesting himself of his waistcoat. Then we simply walked to the corner, carried the stool to the stairway, jumped up on it like a little boy having some fun, and proceeded to remove the quilt before once again jumping to the floor. The whole thing took only a couple of minutes, and Lizzy watched him with a touch of amusement. When he landed on the floor next to me, without a word he handed me one end of the quilt, and we proceeded to fold it neatly as if we had been doing it together all our lives. He put it in the indicated cabinet, then as Lizzy led us all towards the stairs up to the first floor, he took another stairway that looked like it might go down to a kitchen and disappeared… all without a word.

We all followed Lizzy upstairs, and she showed us to our respective bedrooms. My suspicions were confirmed when she pointed out the bedroom for Lydia and I from across the hall, and would not come within two paces of the door. I made no effort to coerce her, and told Lydia my suspicions when we were along together for a moment. Later we would all do our best to make sure Lizzy never had to climb the stairs again. She told us she was perfectly happy with Mrs. Hewes on the ground floor; and in fact she much preferred it.

When we all wandered into our respective rooms to inspect them and plan where our things were going to go, we were once again surprised by Mr. Darcy, who seemed intent on acting as far out of the expected character as possible. He appeared in the rooms carrying a bucket of coal in each hand, and proceeded to spend the next hour or so acting like some kind of cross between a footman, a scullery maid and a master. He carried coal to each bedroom, and then carefully cleaned out the fireplaces, even though Lizzy and Mrs. Hewes seemed incapable of allowing a speck of dust in their home anyway. Once it was clean, he not only laid a fire in the grate to ward off the winter chill, but then he gathered each of us together for lessons in how to light and manage the fires safely and efficiently. First we were afraid of him, then we were all perplexed by him, and now we were in awe of him. Lizzy just watched all of his antics with an expression that as much as said he was incapable of surprising her any more.

Once all of that was done, Mrs. Hewes put a nice luncheon of cold meats, bread and cheese in the breakfast room. The parsonage did not have a formal dining room, and Lizzy had obviously not planned for ten people at her supper on the next day, but we all spent a half hour discussing how it could be done and finally came up with a more or less workable plan.

Immediately after luncheon, Mrs. Hewes and Sergeant MacDonald offered to take some of the girls into the village to acquire our trunks, and check with the butcher and baker for victuals for the supper. The Sergeant told us he knew a boy with a pony cart that would deliver our trunks and anything else we needed, so most of the sisters went to the village with them, leaving only Mr. Darcy, Lizzy and myself doing some cleaning and arranging of the rooms.

An hour or so later, I came to the parlor just in time to see Mr. Darcy enter carrying a try with tea and biscuits, and Lizzy following behind. Apparently, Mr. Darcy was capable of acting as other kinds of servants, and I think he surprised both Lizzy and I at the same time by pouring the tea exactly the way Lizzy would, including a few of her slightly eccentric mannerisms. I was unsurprised to see he knew how to prepare Lizzy's tea, but astonished to know he knew how to prepare mine.

We sat down to our tea, and for the first time that day, or really, the first time ever, I noticed Mr. Darcy showing some real nervousness. It may be that the skulking about he did in public places like that first assembly was another sign of nervousness, but this was different. He was quite bothered by something.

Lizzy noticed as well, and finally said, "Out with it Fitzwilliam! It cannot possibly be any worse than the other things we have discussed this past week!"

He looked carefully at both of us, and said, "It may be. I have one more confession to make to… to… to both of you. I am sorry I did not tell you earlier, Elizabeth."

She said, "Yes, I am certain you had ample time during all the idle chatter we have engaged in."

She said that with a bit of a grin, but also a look of some nervousness. Whatever the two of them had discussed, sounded like it had been of some import, but I was not going to pry into it. If he had something to say to the both of us, I assumed it could only have some subject.

He looked carefully at me, and seemed to be gathering his courage for something unpleasant, so I forestalled him.

"Are you going to tell me you had something to do with Mr. Bingley's abandonment, Mr. Darcy?"

His head snapped up to look directly at me, and he simply nodded and said, "Yes, I am afraid I did. I conspired with his sisters to convince him to leave. It was… it was… it was badly done. Miss Bingley would have had no chance of convincing him without me. He looked up to me in many things, and he did in this matter as well. I thought I was doing it in service of a friend, but I was wrong in so many ways."

He looked like he was going to cry, and Lizzy looked like she was going to murder him. Neither outcome seemed like it would suit me. Mr. Darcy had shown that there was more to him than any of us had supposed, and Lizzy looked like she had just lost her only friend in the world.

I said calmly, "If I may ask Mr. Darcy, what were the objections? Was it our fortune? Our lack of position in society? Perhaps the abhorrent behavior of my mother and sisters? Did you think me unaffected but mercenary?"

His attention had been focusing on Lizzy, as I truly believed it should, but it snapped back to engage me fully.

Before he had a chance to say anything, I locked eyes with him and stared him down enough to know I was not the meek lamb I had been a year ago, despite my propensity to let Lydia talk for me and said calmly, "Hold that thought a moment, Mr. Darcy."

Then I turned my attention fully on my sister, and said, "Lizzy, before I go any further, I wish you to abandon any thoughts of mayhem against this man this instant. He is obviously your friend now…"

At the surprise in her eyes, I added, "You can fool yourself Elizabeth, but you cannot fool me. Now you _will_ forgive your friend right here, right now, and then _I will finish my discussion!_ This is not your business! _"_

Elizabeth was as surprised by my unaccustomed bout of aggressiveness as I was with myself, but she stared at me for what seemed a very long time, then stared at Mr. Darcy, and nodded. The man looked like she had just saved him from an execution, and I was no longer in doubt about what Mr. Darcy was doing here. As usual, Lizzy had not the slightest idea, but he did not seem a man that would walk away a second time.

When Lizzy put her daggers away, I turned back to Mr. Darcy and said, "Pray continue, sir. This may be your one chance to say your piece without upsetting Elizabeth, so please be comprehensive."

Over the next several minutes he relayed the sorriest tale of confused affections ever told, and eventually concluded that he believed he was saving his friend from a loveless marriage to a women who did not truly esteem him but would do her duty as a daughter.

I stared at my hands on my lap long enough to truly think through _everything_ he said, and everything that had happened in that six weeks the previous year, and eventually came to a conclusion, while he and Lizzy sat waiting patiently as if they were quite accustomed to heavy thoughts that took some time.

At long last, I glanced back at Lizzy to make sure she was still calm, then looked steadily at the gentleman and said, "May I ask for some clarification, Mr. Darcy?"

"Of course, Miss Bennet! You may ask anything of me you desire."

I queried, "How is it that while you have all of these responsibilities at Pemberley, you have time to manage Mr. Bingley's fortune, and his servants, and his coachman, and his grooms, and his horse, and the stage line between London and Meryton?"

He looked confused, and then looked at Lizzy which I took to mean he either thought she would help his confusion, or that he was accustomed to her leaving him befuddled. It could have been either one.

At last, he said, "I do not understand. I control none of those things."

I said, "Exactly my point. You did not prevent Mr. Bingley from returning. He prevented himself."

He looked unsure of the answer, and I asked another seemingly disconnected question.

Mr. Darcy, do you remember the _very first_ conversation you had with Lizzy, last winter at that first assembly in Meryton?

He looked pained, and said, "I have recently been trying to make amends for that. It was very badly done."

I was puzzled for a moment, and then said, " _Oh dear!_ You are thinking of your insult about Lizzy's handsomeness. That is _hardly_ a _conversation_ Mr. Darcy, and considering you have all of your fingers, toes and hair still in place I assumed you have already profusely apologized for that debacle."

He nodded, and surreptitiously seemed to be checking his fingers while running his hand through his hair; then he smiled at the reference.

I continued, "I mean the _very first words_ exchanged. I will remind you. They were about poetry."

I saw him searching his memory for some time, and like any good governess, I allowed him the time to work it out for himself. That had been before Lizzy _really_ attracted his attention, so it required some effort but his efforts were eventually rewarded, as he managed at length to quote her verbatim.

 _"… I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of  
poetry in driving away love!"_

 _"I have been used to consider poetry as the food  
of love."_

 _"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything  
nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only  
a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced  
that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."_

He looked at me in understanding, and I told him _why_ I was no longer either heartbroken or angry, although I had been both for quite some time.

" _That_ is what Mr. Bingley had, Mr. Darcy… _a slight, thin sort of inclination_. It did not even take a sonnet, just the words of a friend and a pernicious sister."

His head snapped up at that, and I said, " _I forgive you Mr. Darcy, as you did in fact act in service of a friend_. After today I can no longer think badly of you; but make no mistake! So long as you are in company with _my sisters , _you shall never again be on the same side of a dispute with Caroline Bingley. You now know better, and I am not the girl I was."

He nodded his understanding, while I tried my best to understand both why I was suddenly so aggressive with such a powerful man I hardly knew, and why exactly I was not worried by my complete lack of propriety and manners; but then I had one more important thing to say.

"Mr. Darcy, Charlotte and Lizzy both told me I did not show enough of my feelings, so I must own to my own share of the blame. Mr. Bingley should have been in no doubt, and impervious to argument. To fail to admit my part and blame everything on you and your friend would be as ill‑informed as what you did; and I can honestly say I believe anyone trying to escape being shackled to my mother is truly just showing good sense. May we say the whole affair behind us?"

He looked at me with what I thought was probably a newfound sense of respect, and for the first time in possibly a year, I smiled at a man.

He said, "Miss Bennet, I may learn slowly, but I do learn. I believe your sister has taught me more of real value in six days than I learned in a decade in society, and now you have offered the same. You may rightly consider me to be on your side in all future endeavors."

Lizzy looked like she may or may not want to have some share of the conversation, so I preempted her by saying, "Mr. Darcy… Lizzy… Since this is _my business_ , I now wish a _permanent_ embargo on the subject, save _one_ exception."

Mr. Darcy agreed immediately, and Lizzy reluctantly, so I laid down my terms.

"Mr. Darcy, should you wish to fully drop the load I suspect you may still be carrying, I give you leave to relay this entire conversation to Mr. Bingley. _All of it or none of it if you please_. Once you have done so, you may tell Mr. Bingley that I am no longer a _girl_. If, and I must stress this condition, **if** he is no longer a _boy_ , he may _cautiously_ approach me the next time I am engaged in an assembly or a ball, and he has my permission to ask for _one dance_. After that dance, I will either grant or deny him permission to ask for a second on another night. Should he not accept these conditions, I ask that should we ever meet again, he treat me as the most indifferent acquaintance he knows. Those are my terms."

Mr. Darcy nodded his understanding and said, "I owe him the same explanation as I owed you, Miss Bennet, and I will give it as you have instructed."

I looked at him carefully, and I saw a look of true contrition and understanding, and for perhaps the first time, I saw things in a different light.

I said, "Mr. Darcy, you did this all in service of a friend, did you not?"

He nodded somewhat sadly, and said, "Yes, Miss Bennet, I did."

I gave him a look of calm understanding and said, "I agree you did, but there is one thing you may not comprehend."

"Please enlighten me"

I gave him perhaps the first true Jane Bennet smile that had graced my face in some time, as I felt a burden had been lifted that I had not even known I was carrying.

I said, "You could not have known at the time, but the friend you were in service of was _me. _Mr. Bingley and I, as we were last year, would not have survived the test of time. We, neither of us, had the strength of character or fortitude for a long and felicitous marriage. You did not know it, but even then, you were acting as _my friend_. Should you feel so inclined, I would feel privileged if you would call me Jane when not in company."

He nodded in understanding, gave the biggest and frankly handsomest smile I had ever seen on his face, and spoke his appreciation with his eyes. I could see how he and Lizzy managed to carry on whole conversations without a word. It was not difficult at all when he quit guarding his expressions.

At that very moment, I decided that I _truly liked_ Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, faults and all. I liked him very well indeed. In fact, he was my favorite man in the world. Yes! He would make a very very very fine brother. The best of brothers!


	17. Breakfast

On Friday morning, I learned something quite interesting. As it turns out, much to my surprise, it takes considerably less work to feed breakfast to eight than three. It made no sense at all unless of course you reckoned that five of the eight were my sisters and Mrs. Hewes, and they had banned me from the kitchen and the coop at least until luncheon. They were not specific about _which particular_ luncheon, but with Lady Catherine and her entire family coming to supper, I was hoping they meant luncheon _today_. Naturally, where Mrs. Hewes went, Sargent MacDonald soon followed, so that left me with only one lone companion to while away the time before my sisters most likely burned the parsonage to the ground.

I was not especially hungry at the moment, and politeness did demand some conversation, so I took it upon myself to start one.

"Mr. Darcy, with the ever changing nature of your parsonage visiting schedule, I imagine I will be making up the middle room upstairs for you soon."

He simply grinned, and said, "Be careful what you wish for Elizabeth."

What had been said in jest was returned in jest, and we then spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries and witticisms, and it was not terrible.

At some point he said, "Speaking of my visits to the parsonage, how is it you always know when I am about. The day your sisters arrived, I doubt very much that you saw or heard me, and I am absolutely certain I was never in your sight that first day."

"What makes you so sure?"

He just laughed a big and said, "Yesterday, before your sisters came I was as silent and invisible as a ghost. After your sisters came, you would not have noticed my aunt lighting your dress on fire."

I smiled and said, "So, are you saying you want to know one of my feminine secrets?"

"I do!"

I just chuckled and said, "How close to your hounds do you have to come before they start baying. If Rosings were downwind, you might stand a chance, but alas, luck is not with you. We do have _five_ senses. Your cologne is very distinctive and has not changed in a year."

He chuckled and we proceeded to talk of anything and nothing or another five minutes. I have not the slightest idea what we did actually discuss, but it was pleasant. Everything was amiable and pointless with nothing at all of significance said or heard, something like Mr. Bingley chatting with Louisa Hurst.

Surprisingly happy with the way the morning was working out, considering what a debacle I thought the evening likely to be, I glanced at the front door. Mr. Darcy saw my glance, and as I was becoming somewhat accustomed to, we simply moved in that direction in unison with no particular discussion. In a very gentlemanly manner, he helped me into my pelisse before donning his greatcoat. I removed my mobcap and replaced it with a brand new bonnet my sisters had decorated personally and brought for me as he put on his beaver and opened the front door to usher us outside.

By mutual agreement, and by that, I mean mutual awkwardness and inability to think of anything witty or intelligent to say, we walked out towards the ornamental gardens of Rosings. It occurred to me that in some alternate life where I was _not_ shackled to my cousin, I might have visited some other more amenable bride. It was easy enough to imagine Charlotte Lucas or Louisa Golding marrying the man just for comfort and security, and should I have happened to visit I may have spent days and weeks wandering these grounds in complete satisfaction. Lady Catherine's taste in gardens tended more toward the formal than was my taste, but nobody could deny their beauty, and the woods to the side of the formal gardens were enchanting. Now both garden and copse had been right outside my door through a winter, a spring, a summer, an autumn and back to winter and I had scarcely noticed. How much had I lost, how much felicity had I missed, simply because I had quit looking for beauty all around me. More troubling, why, _in the presence of this particular man_ was I starting to think about it once again.

We both walked somewhat stiffly with our hands clasped behind our backs, much tighter than any practical purpose required, and for perhaps the first time in his company, I allowed myself to reflect back on our history together. Our easy camaraderie of the breakfast room was reduced, but not quite gone. Neither of us seemed particularly put out or under any real duress, at least by our usual conversational standards, so my mind had time to wander.

In Hertfordshire, every conversation was like a knife fight, with me as likely to be trying to injure him as not. He played the part of innocent lamb that did not even know what a knife was most of the time. I wondered how he had missed my dissembling, and once again how I had refused to see what Jane and Charlotte saw so clearly. That was what happened in a knife fight… sooner or later, you only saw the knife and not the opponent, or the arena or the spectators.

In Kent, every conversation had been like a fire or flood, with each of us alternating between the roles of rescuer and arsonist. Somehow, in a way I did not think I would ever truly understand, we had both laid our souls bare, right down to the bedrock, and in the process, perhaps stopped or slowed something dark that we each had found attached. Somehow, despite our wretched beginnings, we had offered each other some healing.

How it began, I had not the slightest idea, because there was no earthly reason I should have done anything but hate him after his eavesdropping on perhaps the worst conversation of my life… well, fourth or fifth worst perhaps. Mayhap he had formed a preference for me back somewhere in our past life and that established the connection, or perhaps he was just exactly what he appeared to be… an honorable man, trying to do his best in a difficult world and appalled by my situation.

I could well remember the exact words that first allowed him to creep into my thoughts and perhaps into the tiny corner of my heart that still functioned, " _my cowardice is screaming at me"_. Somehow, in that declaration, I had found someone that I could listen to. I recognized a fellow human being in pain, and concluded without actually knowing it, that I could offer some relief. Somehow, I could tell it was a pain I could respond to with something other than more bitterness and pain, and the tide had been slowly but inexorably turned towards… towards what exactly?.

After some considerable time, each lost in our thoughts that were threatening to become more maudlin by the minute, I decided that for once in our lives, we might have a _conversation_. I did not mean we had never had conversations, but I meant perhaps we could have a conversation that was not likely to leave one of us dead and the other maimed for life, only to start over with alternated roles ten minutes later.

I looked up and he seemed engaged in his own internal thoughts, but also peeking at me from time to time. I finally screwed up my courage and said, "Jane is right you know, Mr. Darcy."

He looked at me more carefully, and thought through his reply, as he usually did.

He said, "Might you use my given name, Elizabeth? I promise that crow is the only witness and he seems trustworthy enough. You have done it once before, so am certain you know what it is."

I replied, "Yes, I did use it just yesterday, but I was spitting, murderously, hopping mad at the time."

He smiled, which I had to admit made him look quite handsome – disturbingly handsome, and also had both a disarming and an alarming effect, and said, "Perhaps, we can dispense with that part. It is less optimal."

I answered that with a small smile that I had not really intended, but I let it stand.

He continued, "I have diverted you long enough. How is Jane right?"

Still caught up in reflections of the past, and nearly forgetting the conversation that I myself had just started; I had to sheepishly admit that back in Netherfield; he said many clever and intelligent things, which I promptly misinterpreted like as not. In fact, I sometimes thought he did the same thing I did in reverse. Things I had given as barbs, he had taken as witty chatter or compliments. Things he gave as compliments, I took as witty but injurious barbs.

For example, I remembered a parlor discussion about the hated _accomplishments,_ he said, _"All this she must possess, and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."_ That had in fact been a near crippling setdown to Miss Bingley, but I did not see it. In a more prudential light, I suspected it was really intended as a _compliment to me_ , but I had been no more perceptive than the other recipient and had gone on to try to injure his assertion, rather than recognizing it for what it was. More the fool me!

I brought my focus back to the present, but as usual, he seemed like he would be happy to wait until yet another summer had gone by for my answer. I felt the stiffness and tension in both of my arms, and realized that we had been in somewhat _easy_ company for neigh on a half‑hour now, but we were both still unsure of ourselves, stiff and formal, open and afraid. I thought I should at least try to put us both out of our misery.

I gradually relaxed my hands, and then my arms, and somewhat shyly reached over to take the inside of his arm. He immediately released his own hands and moved his arm to the usual walking position, and we walked on for a moment or two, arm in arm, seemingly in perfect peace and accord; for the moment happy with each other's company.

I finally decided to finish my own thought and said, "I am sorry. I was woolgathering. What I meant about Jane being right, _Fitzwilliam_ , is that _you are my friend._ Perhaps you have always been, or perhaps not, but I believe you are now, and dare I say I believe you will remain. Do you concur?"

He simply said, "Yes, Elizabeth I am your friend. I shall always be. A bond was formed this week that neither time nor distance nor troubles shall break."

The simple declaration warmed my heart, and for a little while, I believed perhaps I could worry about someone else for a change.

"Fitzwilliam, we have not talked of your sister since that first fraught conversation. How does she fare?"

His countenance was easier to read now that both of us seemed to be less diligent in maintaining our defensive masks than we had been, and I thought I saw the signs of both approbation that I was taking his sister into the circle of people I cared about; and sadness at what had nearly befallen her.

He said, "She is much recovered over the past year, but is…"

Now he stumbled for words, and I was afraid that I had once again begun one of our near fatal discussions, but he brightened back up and continued.

"… somewhat reduced, but mostly recovered. I have high hopes for her, as I have recently discovered an entirely new and I believe more effective treatment. I believe the new regimen will result in full recovery almost immediately."

Curiously, I asked, "What exactly is this wondrous regimen you speak so highly of?"

He laughed, and said, "I am afraid I do not know the specifics, as I must leave that to the proper subject experts. In general terms, the procedure is straightforward enough though."

My curiosity was now overflowing, so I asked, "Please at least tell me the broad outlines."

He said, "The principle component of this recovery consisted of putting her in company with you and your sisters, and leaving her there until the deed is done. I have no idea how it will proceed from there, but I am sure Miss Lydia and Jane will have matters well in hand within a fortnight. Truly Elizabeth, this is rather rudimentary sister recovery. I am surprised you had to ask, what with it being so obvious."

He had a knack for making me just stop walking so I could concentrate on staring at him in confusion, and as usual, he just clamped my hand to his side and forced me to restart by carrying on as before. I looked up to see him smiling at me, and said, "Be careful Fitzwilliam, you may end up with a sister that's indistinguishable from mine."

He just said, "Yes, I can hope."

I did not actually know how to respond to that, so I did not. We continued along for a time, commenting on this feature and that feature of the garden. By some type of safety sense, we were learning how to quit prying at sensitive subjects before any lasting damage was done.

So he liked my sisters now! That did prove to me one of my earlier conjectures. He had simply come to his senses, or perhaps, and this seemed more likely, my sisters were more worthy now. I was not blind to what they had been before. Such willful ignorance was to nobody's credit, and I had to admit that the past year on the whole had not been all bad for them. Perhaps the adversity had forced them to become what they might have become eventually anyway, or maybe it was a branch in life that went to the light in one direction and the darkness in the other, and they had all just stumbled on the right path by chance.

We had not talked about the future any more after my assertions he needed to marry, and it was not a subject I would reopen for a while, but I began to wonder if he was giving it serious consideration. After yesterday, he had seen the good sense and iron willed discipline of one more Bennet sister, and there was every chance that he might attach himself to Jane. I must admit the thought brought very ungracious and unladylike quivers of pleasure at the thought of how Mr. Bingley would react to the news.

Fitzwilliam's heart had obviously not been given to any other eligible ladies, and I had noticed he found something quite pleasing in my sisters. There was no way to predict the future, or the direction of his heart, but of one thing I was beginning to be certain. Should he have his heart engaged by one of my sisters, it would solve a lot of problems in one fell swoop, not the least of which would be _his_ felicity. He would be quite happy with his choice, and also bound to all the sisters by law, by duty, by custom, by inclination, by everything. The loss of Longbourn would become a sad bit of family history, not the beginning of a life of penury. He would be our protector, he would be _my_ protector, and as I now knew, he would take the duty most seriously. No longer would we be dependent on Lady Catherine to find suitors when the time came, and for Lydia and Kitty at least, the time could wait for some years without distress. If he liked my sisters so much, perhaps when they were _his_ sisters, he might introduce them to society at the same time as his own. It all made a very good kind of sense.

Yes, there was not the slightest doubt about it. I had over the last six days learned that, much like Jane before me, _I actually liked Fitzwilliam Darcy_. I liked him very much indeed. He would be the best brother in the world, and I would rejoice in Jane's felicity. I _should_ be most happy indeed… And yet… and yet… and yet… I was not. I was somehow disturbed by the very idea.


	18. Silk

_A/N: Once again, I must say how blown away and grateful I am for all the responses. They are very thoughtful, meaningful and plentiful so keep them coming. I especially love how detailed and insightful they have been so thank you for sharing your thoughts with all of us. This story seems to have hit a real nerve. Jane and Lydia are quite the favorites, and I just know all you ladies are swooning over my Darcy. Just admit it, you know I'm right. And you men, well I'm one of you so what can I say._

 _Now I think I'll give you a spoiler about how I'm going to work this all out… NOT! You'll just have to suffer through it, but rest assured, unlike most of my stories, I DO know where this one is going, although not how long it will take to get there. This longish chapter will move it along just a bit. Time to play, 'guess the narrator', although this one's practically a gimme._

 _Wade_

* * *

"You look absolutely lovely, my dear."

Those words nearly had me stumbling over myself and falling flat on my face, which I would almost certainly have negated the compliment. I _did_ in fact look lovely in my own opinion, or as lovely as I ever did. I was wearing a silk dress of the lightest pink, with a green ribbon just below the bodice. I had made a sneak visit to the modiste some months past to have it made on a whim, so only the seamstress and my maid had ever seen it. Both of them had been sworn to secrecy under threat of the severest of penalties. Granted, such threats were not all that frightening, but our agreement was kept. I had a modest but not grandmotherly bodice that very tastefully displayed a very little bit of my charms, a small but elegant amount of lace, and long sleeves that covered the scars on my upper arms that resulted from overzealous bleeding from charlatans… er… physicians. I can never remember which is which, since they seem to be synonyms in my experience. My hair was done up in what I thought was a most becoming fashion, with two small ebony combs, and a couple dozen small pearls woven into it. I looked as well as I ever had in my life, if I do say so myself,

I was thus dressed because I was doing something brand new. I was doing something exciting. I was doing something extraordinary. I was doing something unprecedented and _epic_ in its sheer enormity. I was to have _supper at the parsonage with Elizabeth Collins_ , and I was determined to make the most of it. I had no idea how Mrs. Collins had arranged it, but did not care. Supper in a parsonage! Who would have thought!

What had me nearly stumbling over my own feet was the fact that I had actually heard _two_ nearly identical compliments from the two last people in the world I would have expected them from at almost the same time. I grant you I rarely receive compliments that amount to more than empty flattery for a wealthy heiress from anybody; but in this particular case the rarity of the experience was greatly enhanced because I had received them from two people who _rarely_ gave compliments, to anyone; at least not within my hearing.

The first was my cousin Darcy, "Anne, you truly look lovely. That dress is beautiful, and I am quite certain I have never seen it before. Accept my compliments, cousin."

I curtsied in confusion and answered, "Thank you Darcy. You surprise me."

He actually looked pensive at that assertion, and I thought I might ask him _why_ , when we were away from mother. Darcy rarely spoke to me at all, let alone commented on my appearance. I suspected that was because my mother would jump on such an act like a hound. She was quite insufferable enough with her desire for me to marry him as it was, so he tried to keep the peace by ignoring me. I thought he believed I despised him, but the fact of the matter was I almost had no opinion of him whatsoever. We had never been close as children since I was sick most of the time. Once we grew up, I hardly ever left Rosings, and he had become so accustomed to wandering around with a big matrimonial target on his back that he ducked and hid instinctively. I had once visited town, and I am quite certain I got more emotion from a statue of Julius Caesar than I did from my cousin. His blank mask was _particularly acute_ when in the company of obnoxious matchmaking mamas; of which my mother was the worst offender. I really wished he would just get married, so we might then see if we could be friends, but for the last few years it had just been easier to let him believe I disliked him. It prevented him from making things uncomfortable for me.

I almost missed his even more astounding reply, "I am lately becoming aware that my manners have room for improvement. Please do not be alarmed."

His declaration of my purported beauty would have been shocking enough, but it became extreme due to the fact that he was followed a heartbeat later by another very similar comment from the second least likely person to engage in such flattery!

"Fitzwilliam is right Anne. You do look lovely tonight. That dress suits you. It is very elegant, and you look beautiful."

"Thank you, Mother"

Yes, this was so extraordinary, I must repeat it a time or two, and possibly gather a dozen witnesses. _My mother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, complimented **me** on my appearance on Friday, the 4th of December in the year twelve._ The world had gone completely mad, and my mother and Darcy along with it. Now, just to be clear, my mother _did_ frequently comment on my supposed good qualities which all purportedly were related to my breeding, but such statements were never made to me directly, and to be honest, they usually sounded like she was saying them by rote rather than out of any feeling. Tonight, she had looked at me carefully but not critically, and offered a sincere compliment at the same time as Darcy. Extraordinary!

As further proof of the insanity of the situation, my cousin was _smiling_ , an act I would have wagered him incapable of; at least within the walls of Rosings. Whatever he had been doing the past week; and make no mistake, it was not happening at Rosings; was apparently good for him, and I wanted whatever it was to continue; and of course, I mean, it should continue after I got over the vapors it was likely to cause, as I would already have swooned like a heroine in a novel, except it would have wrinkled my dress.

Darcy turned to my mother and said most cordially, "I apologize for being absent most of this past week, Aunt! I have been quite occupied on nearby urgent business since my arrival and have neglected you; but I am happy to see you and Anne looking so well. Fear not, I will extend my stay long enough to see to any needs for you and Rosings."

My mother had even less idea what to do with a Darcy run mad then I did, so she simply nodded and thanked him for his compliment and declaration. She did not even jump on his apparent approval of my person. She just let it go.

Carrying on with his conquest, Darcy said, "I have a surprise for the both of you, if you would care to indulge me."

We both looked askance at his uncharacteristically un-Darcy like conduct. With a bit of a flourish, considering what a stick in the mud he was, Darcy swept back, opened the door, and presented his fait accompli. We both just stared at him as he opened the door without asking the footman, and showed two quite unexpected guests. I stared a moment, then shocked both of them with an enthusiastic greeting, which was not usually my mode of address.

"Richard! Georgiana! What a surprise! Welcome. We are happy to see you, are we not, Mother? We are just going out to supper, but I cannot wait to talk with you later."

Darcy was definitely a naughty boy, sneaking Richard and Georgiana into our midst with nary a word of warning. He had been here a full week and had made not the slightest indication that either of those were to be in attendance. I had no idea where he planned to stuff them while we went for our supper at the parsonage.

The Colonel made a sweeping bow, and greeted us with all the meaningless cordiality that was his trademark. Whereas Darcy never gave me a compliment, the Colonel appeared incapable of making a full and complete sentence in my presence without one. We had never actually spoken a single sentence of any real substance I could recall, but he certainly could lay out the flowery, pretty, and ultimately empty words with the best of them. Perhaps they taught that wherever he went to school to learn the art of war. Mayhap it was required on the battlefield to complement a man before you tried to slice him open with your sword or run over him with your horse.

Georgiana looked just as shy and timid as she ever did, which put her on about an even footing with me. Neither of us performed well to strangers, or to just about anybody when you came right down to it. We were not naturally voluble in the least, which was ordinarily of no particular concern since nobody ever spoke two words of sense in the presence of my mother anyway. I was genuinely happy to see her, because she was the only female relative I had that was any closer in age to me then my mother. I believe she rarely attended us at Rosings, mostly because she was frightened to death of my mother; a sensible enough attitude.

I thought it was insufferably rude for us to send them upstairs while we went off to the parsonage.

"Darcy, what are you about inviting them when we are just to leave for supper. It seems either the worst possibly planning, or at the very least a touch impolite to leave them alone after the journey."

Darcy smiled again and said, "I appreciate your concerns Anne, but all is well. They are invited to supper with us. I know you were looking forward to some time with Mrs. Collins, but there will be other opportunities, I assure you. I hope you do not mind?"

"Of course not!"

I might have shown a bit of disappointment, but I was content with his assessment that I would have another chance later. I was beginning to suspect that I was not the primary object of the invitation anyway. For that matter, I was not entirely certain my mother was; since Darcy had been acting _very strangely_ since the start of his visit. I had found it most refreshing, since he was gone from Rosings most of the time, but when he was here he acted oddly. His mood had been shifting about on an almost daily basis from the foulest and blackest humor I had ever seen to tonight's display of schoolgirl giddiness.

His absence had been convenient, but on reflection it seemed unlikely he was spending all of his time in the haberdashery shop or the blacksmiths in Hunsford village, so the most likely location was the parsonage. Mr. Collins had once mentioned meeting my cousin Darcy when he went to Hertfordshire to find his bride (well, closer to a couple dozen mentions, but why quibble now), so perhaps Mrs. Collins already knew Darcy and he had been over doing something around the parsonage. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do, and Darcy was nothing if not gentlemanly and diligent in any perceived duty that did not involve conversation with me. Mr. Collins was not in the best of health, apparently with one foot firmly in the grave, so Darcy would have been the only candidate for whatever she required. I did not mind in the least, because in a week or two Darcy would be gone and Mrs. Collins would still be here. I judged if I could get to know her just a trifle better during the supper or the following weeks, I thought I might be able to visit her from time to time with my phaeton. I had stopped by a few times during the year she was here, and she had always been cordial and civil, but there was a reserve I could not seem to get beyond. I thought I might like it ever so much if I could have a friend in the area, at least until her goat of a husband died. After that, who could say? We certainly had room for one more lady in Rosings.

Both mother and I were somewhat fanatical about being ready early, so it was still more than in hour before we actually had to go to the carriage. Darcy had either been incredibly lax about the scheduling of travel for my two cousins; her he had been very clever about getting them here just in time to clean up and go over straightaway without having to spend very much time in my mother's company. For all I knew, my cousin Fitzwilliam had timed the entire journey like a military campaign; with the objective being to minimize contact with the enemy, while maximizing chances of meeting up with friendly forces as soon as possible.

Either way, Georgiana and the Colonel hurried upstairs along with Darcy, and less than an hour later they all came back cleaned, flattened, combed and stuffed into the best clothes they had; ready to go over to the parsonage. Georgiana was dressed in a pale yellow silk dress that was of a style very similar to mine, with a blue ribbon and a different style of lace. Her sleeves were shorter than mine, which may have been the style that season I imagined. We looked almost like sisters standing next to each other. We were both so shy that a passing breeze would probably knock us both over on top of each other, so it really did not hurt that we looked so similar. I was not in the least bit put out or jealous of the girl, as I looked as well as I could, and she looked as well as she could. That was really all there was to it, and she looked quite as nervous as I felt. If she _also_ managed to make friends with Mrs. Collins, I would not mind. Mrs. Collins seemed quite capable of managing two friendships at once.

The coach was out front at precisely the correct time to deliver us to the parsonage at precisely the appointed hour. Darcy offered one arm to me and another to his sister; while the Colonel performed the honors for my mother. Within a few minutes we had donned our wraps, been handed into the carriage, and made the short ride to the parsonage that we could have walked to in less time.

My cousins handed us out of the carriage in front of the parsonage, and Mrs. Collins was standing on the stoop in her wrap waiting for us. That seemed a bit odd, but not so unusual as to cause alarm. I imagined she did not have ladies like my mother to supper every week. Actually I am quite certain she _never_ did, as I would have known about that eventually. Mother liked to think she knew everything that happened in the village, but she only knew about the half of it; but far be it from me to spoil her illusions.

Mrs. Collins said, "Welcome to my home, ladies and gentlemen. I am so happy you could attend."

Mother was acting most odd this past week as well. She had gone off in the carriage in a huff on Wednesday evening looking for my cousin, and had come back subdued, seeming a little bit confused, and somehow invited to the parsonage for supper. She had cornered Darcy in her office for well over an hour on Thursday, but came out looking unsatisfied. Darcy was a man who could keep his own council when he chose to.

Mrs. Collins escorted us into the entry hall, where there was nary a servant to be seen. This I imagined would send my mother into fits, but unaccountably it did not. She simply walked in front of Darcy, and he helped her off with her wrap and hung it up, while Mrs. Collins herself did the same honors for me. Richard performed the honors for Georgiana. Mrs. Collins was very cordial to my mother, but not overly deferential. She greeted her as something like an old and well-known aunt, rather than as her patroness. I reckoned she showed proper respect and deference, but none of the obsequious behavior her husband was famous for. Whether mother found this annoying or refreshing was difficult to tell, because she seemed subdued.

When we were all divested of our outerwear, Darcy stepped over to the door next to Mrs. Collins. There was not the slightest doubt they knew each other, and not just as indifferent acquaintances. He showed her the respect of the lady of the house as you would expect, but there was also an odd familiarity between them.

Mrs. Collins curtsied and said, "Lady Catherine, once again welcome to my home. I am very happy you accepted, and quite cognizant of the honor bestowed. Welcome."

Mother looked at her carefully and responded, "I thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Collins. Anne and I are quite looking forward to it."

Mrs. Collins nodded, and said, "I can see Mr. Darcy preparing to do his duty with proper introductions… eventually… but before that, I must inform you that I have introductions to make as well. Might we all retire to the parlor and simply perform the office all at once?"

Georgiana looked at her in confusion, which I imagined matched my expression while my cousin the colonel laughed and agreed to the scheme, while Darcy… well… Darcy smirked. I was ready for a lot of surprises in my life, but a teasing Darcy was beyond the pale.

Mother said, "A sensible plan, Mrs. Collins. We need not stand on ceremony or remain in the entry all night. Come Fitzwilliam."

Then she took my Cousin Darcy's arm without asking, but he was not put out by it. My other cousin offered an arm to Georgiana, and Mrs. Collins said very cordially, "Miss de Bourgh and I presume Miss Darcy. May I say you are both a vision of loveliness this evening! I most specifically welcome you to my home."

Then seeing my general level of confusion, she held out her hand to indicate the door that presumably led to either the parlor or a French dungeon, and walked in with me.

Inside the parlor, Darcy continued his annoying smirk, which I was beginning to either love or loath… it would take me some time to decide, and mother and I just stopped in shock.

The parlor was stacked from front to back, floor to ceiling, top to bottom, consuming all of the available space with young ladies. They were all pretty, all dressed in muslin, and all standing with their hands clasped in front of them in the most perfect ladylike poses you could imagine; straight from a deportment book. I presumed these must be sisters or cousins, as they all had a similar look to Mrs. Collins. My very first thought was one of fright, but then I caught the eyes of a tall light haired beauty, and something about her countenance, a certain gentleness, settled me down. I would never know why it only took a glance to know that neither this woman nor her companions would dream of doing me any harm, but I would have bet my life on it should the occasion demand. Darcy had taken his sisters arm and held her in a measure of brotherly assurance to show her that all was well; but he still had that subtle smirk on his face. Oh, he was enjoying this. He was enjoying it far too well.

In addition to the young ladies, I was most surprised to see Mrs. Hewes! She had been perhaps my favorite person in the world for much of my life before she left almost a year past, and I gave her a much bigger smile than my oaf of a cousin was ever likely to receive. She just smiled back at me then nodded back towards the rest of the assembled ladies, gently telling me that all was well, and I should pay attention to what I was about. I reached over and squeezed my cousins Georgiana's hand, just in case she had not seen such comforting sights, and she squeezed back in apparent appreciation… or annoyance. It was hard to tell with Georgiana.

Mrs. Collins said, "I apologize for the surprise ladies, but my sisters only lately arrived unexpectedly and I had not the time to have them properly introduced."

My other cousin, always short with a quip said, "How about us gentlemen?"

Mrs. Collins looked at him with a look that may have had a bit of amusement, and said, "You will live", which left him nearly howling with delight. She had not even been introduced, and had already taken his measure.

Mrs. Collins said, "Mr. Darcy, if you please?"

Some instinct told me that Darcy pleased to do whatever Mrs. Collins desired, but that thought would have to await another time as we were much too busy for such things.

I glanced at mother, and she seemed to be taking the surprise rather well. I gathered that Mrs. Collins had somehow convinced her that she needed to show more fortitude than her position indicated, because she looked and acted as if she met parlors full of young ladies in parsonages every day of the week, and perhaps twice on the odd Saturday.

Darcy did the introductions properly; well, more or less properly. He was the most fastidious man I had ever known a week past. Now, he seemed to be just enjoying some kind of lark. He managed to get the order of precedence about half correct, but otherwise just made the introductions in an informal but straightforward manner.

"Aunt Catherine, my apologies for not informing you of the guests. Plans have been somewhat fluid as of late. Allow me to do the introductions as instructed."

"Ladies, my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

All the ladies executed proper curtsies, and then Darcy apparently decided he did not wish to spend the rest of the evening in introductions and just executed the rest of them all in rapid succession, pointing at each person with a flat hand in turn.

"My cousin, Miss Anne de Bourgh. My sister, Georgiana Darcy. My cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam. Allow me the pleasure of introducing the Bennet sisters. Mrs. Elizabeth Collins, Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Mary Bennet, Miss Catherine Bennet and Miss Lydia Bennet. I believe you all know Mrs. Hewes, who now shares house with Mrs. Collins, and may I introduce Sergeant MacDonald who has been assisting the ladies with certain matters."

I had to admit, that my cousin introducing a pack of Bennet sisters, a former servant who appeared to be companion to Mrs. Collins, a sergeant and a sister had been done in surprisingly short order.

"Well met, Lady Catherine. Miss de Bourgh. Miss Darcy. Colonel", replied Mrs. Collins cordially, and her sisters echoed the sentiment.

Mrs. Collins was a difficult person to read. Being sick most of my life I made a study of people's reactions, but had to admit that my society was much too limited to ever claim a particular proficiency. The few times I met her, she seemed friendly enough, as if that were her basic nature, but she was more inscrutable than Darcy. I still found Mrs. Collins mostly thus, but the rest of the ladies were all open smiles and welcome manners. Miss Bennet the eldest came over directly to us, and very obviously set about making us comfortable. She was joined by the youngest, Miss Lydia and between them we were settled into pleasant conversation almost immediately.

Miss Mary joined, and pounced on Georgiana like a terrier when she found out she was a pianoforte player of no mean skill, and they launched into a discussion of composers and playing styles that left the rest of us completely behind within half a minute. Miss Bennet just watched them with a half-smile on her face, as if she had organized the entire arrangement.

Mrs. Collins made a very cordial greeting to me, and then encouraged her sister Catherine to join me in pleasant conversation, before easing herself out of it to go talk to my mother. She mostly ignored both of my male cousins, more studiously one than the other. For Darcy, she was pointedly ignoring him, and she seemed to have forgotten the colonel was present, if she had even noticed in the first place.

After perhaps fifteen minutes of conversation, Mrs. Collins looked at my cousin, and then at the door of the dining parlor, and he started us toward the table by offering my mother his arm without a word. No, they were definitely not indifferent acquaintances.

Mrs. Collins, who seemed to not have a single servant in the house, gathered up two or three of her sisters and went towards a stairway that I presumed, went to the kitchen, along with Mrs. Hewes. They returned a few minutes later bearing a set of serving trays just like a footmen, and started setting out a simple meal of beef, chicken and vegetables along with wine, water and ale on the table.

My cousin Darcy astounded me by going to a sideboard after he had seated mother, and taking a pitcher of wine, he poured for her. She stared at him in astonishment, but he seemed to think nothing of it. My cousin the colonel seemed to be in raptures, as might be expected with three men and nine women to table, at least four of them very pretty and eligible; six if you counted Georgiana and I. Yes, he had not the slightest cause for complaint, and I had to admit, neither did I.

Once everything was set out, Mrs. Collins went to the head of the table, Darcy went to the foot and he carved exactly as if they were Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, which when Mr. Collins died, did not seem to be entirely out of the realm of possibility.

This was turning out to be perhaps the most interesting and entertaining evening of my life, and it had only just begun.


	19. Barrels

My brother was back! **He was finally back,** although it was a good two hours after I saw him before I managed to piece together the reason, and even then I had no idea how it could possibly work out well in the end – but I cared not. **My brother was back!**

I am perfectly well aware that I might be considered a young, silly, ignorant girl with only seventeen summers: and that any one or at most two of those characteristics might make me seem unworthy of attention; but I am not stupid, despite ample evidence to the contrary. I may not be as voluble or witty as some, nor as observant and insightful as others; but I can see what happens around me if it goes on long enough. Though I may learn life's lessons slowly, I do learn eventually.

The lesson about my brother took at least a decade. Granted, at eight years of age when it more or less began, I was not the most acute observer of life around me; but over time I gradually put the pieces together. Between what I could see, what other people told me, and frankly the results of more than a little bit of eavesdropping (I could put a church mouse to shame when I wanted to), I had learned quite a number of things. I did not restrict my forays to my brother and his cousin, but things were learned from servants, housekeepers and even my brother's valet. Mrs. Reynolds was especially helpful in her less guarded moments, and she had known my brother since he was four years old.

To truly understand the magnitude of the change in my brother, you must know how he arrived at this point of giddy excitement I am currently beating to death. As far as I could determine, he had been dying inside a little bit at a time almost since my birth. He was like a water barrel in a farmstead with a very slow leak. The staves would warp a bit as the water leaked out, it would go down to a certain level, and then the rain would come along to fill it back up. Every time the rain came, the barrel was refilled but the staves warped just a bit more, and the leak became just a touch more pronounced, so that it was never properly filled. Each storm brought life and death at the same time, with the barrel gradually losing its battle with the elements. That was my brother, day by day, dying a little bit at a time, the light gradually leaving his eyes. That may seem an odd analogy for a lady of my station, but at heart the Darcys were gentleman farmers, and I flattered myself it was in my blood.

I imagine the leak began in earnest when my father died. I was young, and it would take me a long time to work out the essence of my father. My brother would probably disagree with my assessment, and be angry on top of that; but I shall not be moved in my opinion. _My father was a coward_ _. He was an irresponsible coward!_ His wife had a baby, she died, and he just gave up on his life and his family. He never paid the slightest attention to me, and he barely took care of his son's education. Like I said, _a coward!_ So his wife died! That was no excuse! He was the master of a great estate, born to wealth and privilege and responsibility. He knew where babies came from. He should have just acted like a man and taken care of his family, _but he did not_. I do not really repine his loss, since he was never anything except a vague concept to me, but I will _never forgive him for abandoning my brother_. When my father finally gave up on life, the entire burden fell on Fitzwilliam, and that is when the leaks began in earnest. I know Fitzwilliam loved his father and misses him terribly, but I do not.

The summer of the year eleven, _I nearly killed Fitzwilliam myself_ with an ill-conceived courtship with a scoundrel in Ramsgate. Granted, I was an even more ignorant girl then, and granted Fitzwilliam really should have warned me about Wickham; but I was _my responsibility_ and I failed spectacularly. Worse yet, no matter how much I raved and cajoled and pleaded, Fitzwilliam would not relent. _He would not chastise me_ as I deserved. Censure was simply something he was incapable of. He took all the blame upon his own shoulders for failing me; and proceeded with his self‑appointed task of killing himself. I really would have preferred it if he beat me senseless or restricted my privileges or took away my dowry or _something_. That would have been rational, that might have been effective, and we might have then moved past it, but Fitzwilliam simply kept it all bottled up inside and allowed me no room to _just be wrong_.

I had no idea what happened a few months later in the winter of that year in Hertfordshire, but he came back from that with a decidedly bigger leak. Aside from the fact that he mentioned a lady named Elizabeth in a few letters, apparently one of five sisters with a typical matchmaking mother; nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have happened; but he came back altered… very altered. I think he actually enjoyed all the fires and flooding and other mayhem of the year twelve, because at least that was something he knew how to deal with; but I was quite despairing of ever having a brother that was whole and complete.

All of that changed on Thursday, the third of December about a half-hour after luncheon, when an express rider arrived at our townhouse with a note.

 _12 December, 1812  
Rosings, Kent_

 _Georgiana,_

 _I cannot explain at the moment, but I  
require your presence at Rosings tomorrow,  
at precisely five o'clock. Bring your cousin  
Fitzwilliam and try to keep him sober as well.  
Bring a good but not overly ostentatious dress.  
I recommend the yellow silk with the blue ribbon,  
and prepare for a dinner that will be pleasant  
and entertaining. We will be dining at the  
parsonage in Hunsford Village. The timing  
is important. Five o'clock if you please._

 _Have no fear. You will enjoy this very much._

 _Fitzwilliam_

As you can see, this was clear and unambiguous evidence that my brother had gone insane. However, after the slow slide into the grave he had been engaged in, I thought insanity an improvement. I could visit him regularly in Bedlam, and all would be well.

This note was clearly written in a hurry. His usual fastidious, even, elegant hand was replaced with something that looked more like a missive from his friend Bingley, who had also been conspicuously absent that previous year. The missive gave exact and specific instructions that had so many things wrong I hardly knew where to begin. Going to Rosings was bad enough; an exact time was unheard of; notice of a single day nearly impossible; but _supper at the parsonage in my favorite dress!_ How did he even notice which dresses I owned, or know which was my favorite? How did he even know where the parsonage was? Not only that, but I was to round up my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and bring him with me, as if I did not have enough troubles already.

One glance at my brother's countenance when we arrived at the exact appointed hour (which required a certain amount of waiting at Bromley while my cousin the colonel eyeballed his watch and consumed brandy at my brother's expense), told me something momentous had changed. It was if some mysterious cooper in the sky had taken his leaky barrel and tarred it over, replaced the staves with new ones freshly cut from the tree of life, repaired all the leaks, and redirected a river to insure the water was clean and cool all year long. He actually smiled… and smirked. My brother! Fitzwilliam Darcy! I had no idea what was causing the change, but whatever it was, I was in favor. My cousin the colonel as usual just went along as if my brother went insane every week.

He went into the parlor at Rosings, and engaged in even more uncharacteristically odd behavior, which apparently included complimenting my cousin Anne about her appearance, apologizing to my Aunt Catherine for neglecting her for a week, and casually mentioning with some kind of smirk that did not tell anyone of our visit _as a surprise_.

Cousin Anne seemed as confused by the whole affair as I was, but she rallied quickly; and I tried my best to not be overly jealous, as my brother was right; she looked lovely in a pale pink dress with long sleeves. I made an impressive job of getting ready in my favorite dress; as specifically instructed by my deranged brother; and the next thing I knew I was in a parlor crowded with Bennets and servants and apparently a Sargent to go along with my Colonel; talking to Miss Mary Bennet about Mozart.

Miss Mary was a delight, and it was all I could do to not overwhelm her with questions. Imagine! Five Sisters! Mrs. Collins must be the mysterious Elizabeth from last winter. After a few minutes of pleasant discussion of music, I could not stand it anymore; particularly since my brother who was known for not letting me out of my sight seemed to have handed me over to the Bennet sisters, never to be thought of again.

"Miss Mary, please do not consider this overly familiar or forward… even though it actually is… but do you have any idea of why my brother is behaving so… peculiar… not that I am complaining mind you; I am most pleased with the change; but I find it… confusing."

Miss Mary looked at me carefully, perhaps wondering how much of a stickler I was. I wondered if she had already heard of me, and if so, what she had heard. I could sense her nervousness, so I moved quickly to remove any apprehensions.

"Please do not stand on ceremony or feel I will be offended, Miss Mary. I am quite satisfied with the change, but… puzzled."

She nodded and said, "We all are! He is behaving most… most…"

I could see her struggling for words, so thought perhaps to assist.

"Irregular? Atypical? Odd? Strange? Abnormal? Unusual?"

She gave a bit of a smile at my impertinence, and apparently decided to pay it back in kind, "Even worse! He is acting polite and friendly!"

I could see her trying to bite back the words as soon as they were said, but I was having none of that.

"Do not distress yourself, Miss Mary. You may be the first person to tell me anything true in years. May I assume he was neither of those in Hertfordshire last year?"

She grimaced at the mention of Hertfordshire, and said, "He was not… I mean…"

She paused as if searching for words, but apparently could not come up with any and said, "He was not well liked, but we do not like to talk about that time. His was not the only offense."

She had gone from happy and impertinent to nervous and edgy in a moment, and it had to be my brother at fault, but I was not quite ready to give up. I may have neglected to mention in the beginning that I have the same stubbornness and lack of good sense my brother enjoys.

"Please, Miss Mary. Do not be distressed. I know how he can be. So would it be fair to assume he was not liked?"

Now she looked like she had somehow walked into a trap, and I hurriedly reassured her, "I apologize, Miss Mary! That was impolite."

She looked me up and down as if appraising me. Something told me her year twelve had not been any better than my year eleven, and she was not the only sister carrying a burden. I could not tell quite what she was about, but tried to salvage myself.

"Please Miss Mary, I feel like I have poisoned our acquaintance before it properly began. May we start anew?"

She again paused, and finally grinned and said, "I do not advise that. We would just have to go through that awkward phase again, and once was quite enough. Let us just carry forward."

I readily nodded my agreement, and she looked around; most pointedly at my brother and at Mrs. Collins. She thought for a moment and said, "Your brother was not liked. He was arrogant and rude. He insulted my sister Lizzy... Mrs. Collins now, although she does not like to be called that… before he even met her. She could barely stand the sight of him at the end."

Then she gasped as if her tongue had run away with her, and I very forwardly grasped her hand to let her know I was not offended. She paused nervously, and then squeezed back.

She continued almost in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard, "Something has changed, Miss Darcy. I cannot convey the entire story of our family, but suffice it to say it has been a difficult year; but something has changed. None of my sisters understand it. We only just arrived before luncheon yesterday, and your brother has been in constant company since then. He seems to have developed a… peculiar… sort of friendship with my sister Lizzy, and she… well, let us just say she seems a bit… confused. Something has happened between them; and then again, something with my eldest sister Jane, but I do not understand it."

By then Miss Mary had turned red, and looked like she wished she could keep her own council. I did not blame her for that, as our conversation had been incredibly forward on both sides. I thought perhaps it might be wise to save more conversation until the morrow.

Right then, I started to see the peculiarities of the friendship, if that was what it was, that she referred to. Mrs. Collins instructed my brother to escort the ladies in to the dining room without a single word, nor even seeming to pay him any particular attention. A glance at him and another at the door seemed all that was required.

I could not really see any more, as Mrs. Collins then took her eldest and youngest sisters through a doorway and down some stairs, presumably to a kitchen. They all returned a few minutes later with trays of food.

I sat down to table between Miss Mary and my cousin Anne, and shared Anne's astonishment when my brother poured for Aunt Catherine. I also noticed that the peculiar behavior did not raise a single eyebrow among the Bennets, as if he did this every day.

So it seemed my brother did not even know about the sisters when he sent the express; just Mrs. Collins. Why he was having a peculiar relationship with a married woman… come to think of it, where was her husband... was quite beyond me; but I intended to find out. Of course, my cousin Anne seemed as if she was determined to do the same.

It was promising to be the most interesting evening of my life, if I managed to survive the shock.


	20. Revelations

A/N: I once again must thank all of you for the tremendous response. In return, you get three chapters today, but there is a price. These three are pivotal, but expect a surprise.

* * *

Looking back on the evening, I had to wonder why I had not perceived more about the woman. Mrs. Collins had been about the parsonage for nearly a year, and had only visited me a few times, with that apparently under duress. Such an action was nearly inconceivable to me, as everyone with my purview typically showed me the respect that was due to my station. I thought her an ill-mannered, probably poorly-bred and poorly-raised specimen, right up until the moment when I could no longer carry that opinion. That moment came upon me quite suddenly and unexpectedly; and it would be quite some time before I really understood what triggered my change of attitude.

My nephew Fitzwilliam Darcy had missed his annual Easter visit to Rosings for understandable enough reasons, but then dillydallied around for most of the rest of the year. When he finally did appear, he may as well have stayed in town for all I saw of him. He came to Rosings on Friday with a look indicating he would just as soon kill someone is have supper, and he was not even as polite to me as he usually was; which was just barely civil. He spared Anne hardly a glance, before retiring to his room, even going so far as to send his valet off before supper, demanding a tray and solitude for the evening. Arriving on foot was the very least of his surprises for the day. Where was his carriage, or at least his horse?

The next two days he wandered around Rosings in a thunderous mood. On Saturday he spent most of the day in the library looking through various legal books left by my late husband, and took all of his meals away from the family; still in as black a humor as I had ever seen. The only time he came out of the library was to call for an express rider, who he instructed for a half-hour before sending him off to town; an act he repeated with three different riders over the course of the following two days.

On Sunday we went to church as usual. The sermon was delivered by the curate assigned by the Bishop, who unlike his predecessor simply delivered the classic sermons in an efficient and workmanlike manner. Darcy again showed himself incapable of holding even the simplest conversation with anybody, although he kept staring at Mrs. Collins in the rector's pew. He then hid himself in his room for the rest of the day, although he did receive express messages in the afternoon, and again early Monday morning, at which point he disappeared entirely again.

By Wednesday evening, I was fed up. I had a suspicion that since he had met Mrs. Collins the year previously, and he seemed to look in her direction frequently in church, he might have reestablished some type of friendship with her; or more likely he was simply performing some type of service, since she was mostly alone and unprotected. He was the consummate gentleman, which meant he would probably see her plight as a duty, and he was not a man to shirk his duty; even if it seemed to pain him more than any casual acquaintance should. It would not particularly explain his mood, or not even close to it, but it would explain his actions. Perhaps that friend of his from trade had done something to Mrs. Collins or one of her apparently numerous sisters. They had been in company the previous winter, and that would leave Darcy to clean up after the man; which would not surprise me.

Mrs. Collins thoroughly astonished me when I accosted her in the parsonage on Wednesday. I had expected her to be ungracious and unfriendly based on our previous lack of interaction, but she disarmed me. She greeted me cordially, with a friendly countenance as if she truly appreciated my attendance. She then proceeded to confuse and befuddle me to the point where I had accepted an invitation to supper, and apparently approved of my nephew calling on her. I must admit that in verbal sparring, I had been thoroughly bested for the first time in years… and I will never admit this to another soul, but I found it refreshing. Nobody else even bothered to try anymore, but Mrs. Collins was not like other young wives.

She even managed to imply that I was incapable of having a simple supper at the parsonage. I had no idea what that would entail, but I assumed it would be bad food, poor company and little conversation. I had seen no evidence of a cook, or any other servants for that matter. She might invite some of her parishioners, or some friends. She even had one of my old servants living in the parsonage with her, and for all I knew she might invite her to dine with us as well.

I was determined that if she was doing all of this to flummox me, she would find herself outfoxed, because I was in no mood to be trifled with myself. As far as I was concerned she could go down to the village, find the first carter, she came to, invite him to table complete with his mule; and I would ask the mule to pass the vegetables. She would find she had engaged a worthier opponent than she assumed.

From a strictly practical standpoint, I actually had no real standing in the parsonage. I _was_ in fact the patroness, but once the appointment had been made, it was made for life. I had almost no say in how the parsonage was run, and only the bishop could remove the sitting rector before his death. The building and its acreage was owned by the church, and part of the living was the remuneration for anything grown on that land. Collins chose to while his time away with mostly ornamental plants, but he would have been well within his rights to farm it or lease it out. I was aware that since Mr. Collins became sick, Mrs. Collins was raising more poultry, growing a larger garden, and otherwise seemingly preparing herself for life after her husband's death. I should not be surprised to find the land under cultivation in the spring.

I had no idea she had discharged every single servant in the parsonage, and was somewhat amazed that she had done so without me becoming aware of it. Perhaps I was not as well-informed as I once thought. She had been here with Mrs. Hewes for months, with nary another servant. Mrs. Hewes knew her way around a kitchen after all her years downstairs at Rosings, so perhaps she was teaching Mrs. Collins how to survive on her own. I doubted she had learned it at home, as she was almost certainly gently bred in the first place, but that was all supposition.

It was immediately clear when I arrived that Friday evening for supper that there was something beyond simple gentlemanly behavior between my nephew and Mrs. Collins, but I could not hazard to guess what it was. They did not seem to be lovers, not that I would ever suspect Darcy of stepping so far outside the bounds of decency. They may well have been friends, but there was entirely too much tension between them when nobody was watching for that to really be the explanation. In my more panicked moments, I thought perhaps Darcy was simply waiting for Mr. Collins to die so he could stake his claim. I had plans for that boy, but after all of the years of cajoling and encouraging, I was coming to believe he would never marry Anne, regardless of what I did.

Mrs. Collins kept no servants at all, so it was left to her and Fitzwilliam to divest us of our wraps, introduce us to her enormous pack of sisters, and generally keep the assemblage company. Georgianna and one of the middle Bennet sisters seem to hit it off quite well, and one of the younger ones seemed quite enamored with Anne. Both of the young ladies were enjoying themselves enormously. That much was obvious with a single glance, and I was happy to see Anne engaged with someone. I begin to wonder, perhaps for the first time in my life, why it was that two young girls of such enormous advantages would find such simple pleasure in spending an evening in a parsonage with a pack of virtual strangers.

Mrs. Collins set the table herself with a few of her sisters, who had apparently appeared unexpectedly only the previous day. I planned to get to the bottom of that story sooner or later as well. It was peculiar for four sisters to show up so precipitously; perhaps unheard of, and it spoke of something going badly wrong at home.

Mrs. Collins and her sisters certainly seemed to have taken it all in stride, because they all looked as if they had lived here for years. All were unfailingly polite to me, and all of the other members of our party. However, I could see some of the girls splitting off and engaging in what appeared to be either more serious or sillier conversations, so perhaps they were already establishing friendships. It was hard to tell with girls of that age.

Fitzwilliam performed the carving appropriately, as the senior-most male member of the present company; so I did not read anything in particular into that act. The fact that he acted like a footman as well should have sent me in the vapors, but I was finding that I had adjusted to life in the parsonage better than I would have expected to in less than an hour. When I crossed the threshold I left the world of my own authority, and entered the world of another's authority. I would consider it the grossest of improprieties and the worst of manners were someone to come into my home and tell me how to run it. I was now a guest in Mrs. Collins' home, and I would follow her protocols. Good breeding and manners demanded no less, and nobody would ever accuse me of lacking either. When Mrs. Collins came to visit Rosings, and make no mistake, her and her sisters _would_ be attending Rosings before the week was out, then she could bend to my rules.

I had just finished a piece of what I presumed must be one of Mrs. Collins chickens, and had to admit that the cooking was most simple, just chicken and rosemary; but it was well done. Fitzwilliam had graciously left his position at the foot of the table, to go behind me and offer me either wine or water. I was just in the process of choosing the wine that was in his right hand…

 **CRASH… SHATTER… BANG…**

I cannot convey the terror that I felt with the sound using only my quill. It cannot be done. I have a dozen pages sitting in the grate where I made the attempt, but none of them do any better than this.

The door slammed open on the far side of the room, the glass in one of the ornaments near the door smashed and fell on the ground, and in walked a man shouting the most vile, heinous language I had ever heard at the top of his lungs.

 **"YOU HARLOT! YOU WHORE! YOU ADULTRESS! YOU HEATHEN! YOU MISERABLE WRETCH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOME! BEGONE YE HEATHENS! LET THE WRATH OF GOD SMITE YOU WHERE YOU SIT! LEAVE MY HOME, YE SPAWN OF THE DEVIL!"**

There was more… much more, but I will neither write it, nor even remember it. It was bad enough, but nowhere near the worst of it.

Mr. Collins had just entered the room, wearing only a nightshirt. He was drooling all over the front of his shirt, his hair was completely askance if he had been in bed for months, and he had an odor that hit my senses and nearly knocked me over, as if it preceded him into the room as a harbinger of doom.

Worse yet, Mr. Collins had a fire poker in his hand, and he was swinging it left and right with all of his might. The sound of the shattering glass had been something destroyed by the poker, and he was advancing inexorably on the table swinging the poker as quickly as he could, indiscriminately as he came. He advanced on the other side of the table so fast nobody could move, everybody was frozen like a hare staring at a hawk… Everybody that is, _except for my Anne_. She had heard him come in, barely had time to crank her head around so fast I could hardly see it move, and without any apparent conscious thought, she shoved Georgianna on the shoulder so hard she tipped her over directly on top of the middle Bennet sister, Miss Mary.

I saw Georgianna fall over as I let out a very unladylike scream, and it took me a moment to get myself back into regulation. The fire iron, with an end looking as if it'd been sharpened with a whetstone, then dipped in offal, sailed past the exact spot where I am certain Georgianna's head had been only a moment before. Absent Anne's very fast… surprisingly fast… astoundingly fast… reaction, Georgianna Darcy would now be dead.

Unfortunately, the fire iron then proceeded to land directly on Anne's arm, right above the right elbow, and scraped all the way up her arm from elbow to shoulder, before coming out and taking just a slight nip out of her head near the temple.

Surprisingly not screaming in pain, Anne fell backwards on her chair and rolled over, flat on the ground and began bleeding profusely. Perhaps she was not screaming because she had been bled enough times to be familiar with the process, or perhaps she was completely in shock, but I could see that there was no time to waste in getting that bleeding stopped.

All of this happened in such a short sweep of time that all I had managed to do thus far was push my chair back a little bit. I heard almost instantly the crash of the wine and water jugs that Darcy had been carrying, just about the time I saw Mr. Collins sweeping the fire iron back directly at Mary Bennett who had been sitting beside Georgianna, but had started to stand when the assault began. He was well on his way to doing possibly killing her when she was quickly shoved aside by her sister Mrs. Collins, who had run from the head of the table the second Collins came into the room.

Now my screams were joined with everybody else in the rooms as the fire iron slid all the way up Mrs. Collins arm from wrist practically to shoulder, dragging a line of fire along its wake, and then the sharp tip came up and wrapped her very smartly just above the ear, taking out what looked like a large piece of her skull with the sharp edge, and cracking your head with the noise that sounded as if it could be nothing short of fatal.

Right about the time Mr. Collins had started that swing, at almost exactly the same time I heard the carafes that Darcy had been holding crash on the table directly above me, although I would not notice the wine spilled all over me for some time. The destruction of the carafes was followed so quickly you could not even distinguish the two sounds, by Darcy's boots landing in the middle of the table. By the time Collins fire iron had reached Mrs. Collins' arm, Darcy had taken one step across the table and jumped over the heads of his sister and Miss Mary. By the time the fire iron hit Elizabeth on the head, Darcy's fist connected with the man with the force of offended god bent on wrath and destruction. If that strike did not kill the man, I did not know what would because Darcy was absolutely livid, and in a murderous rage to the point where he could barely restrain himself from hitting the man again and again and again.

Darcy moved fast… He moved preternaturally fast, but he had started on the entirely wrong side of the table. It could not have taken him more than three or four seconds to accost the man, but in that time two ladies had been cut down. I would later reflect on how Darcy must feel about his supposed lack of protection, and reckoned my nephew would be chastising himself for years; but I truly thought it more likely a man like Collins should be thought of like a fire or a plague. Nobody could have prepared for this. Who would have believed four physicians of so misjudging a man's condition? I would enjoy seeing the Collins neck in a noose one day, if he lived that long; which did not seem likely with my other nephew in the room.

Darcy looked over at Anne quickly, just as I started running from my own chair towards hers, and noticed that her eyes were open, she was staring at him intently, and she nodded her head distinctly. She must have been in tremendous pain, but she knew what needed to be done; and was giving Darcy instructions as clear as if she had berated him for a full half hour. His duty lay on the floor at his feet, and he was not to be distracted with trifles. I had never been prouder of my Anne than at that very moment. For the second time that night, with no time to think on it, she had done what was right.

The very next second, almost as if no time at all transpired between thought and action, Darcy was on his knees examining Mrs. Collins head injuries. I knew Darcy had extensive experience with this sort of thing from all of the work they did in the more remote reaches of Derbyshire. Short of a doctor, or possibly Richard's battle experience, Fitzwilliam probably had more first-hand knowledge of what needed to be done than anybody.

Fitzwilliam very quickly examined Mrs. Collins' head, and her arm, and prepared to do what he could to save the woman. I was not very sanguine about her chances, as her wound was the worst I'd ever seen or even heard about, and when I finally got a look at Richard's face, it showed grave concern. He had seen wounds before, and he was not optimistic about her chances either.

I rushed over to my daughter, and was proud, relieved and very surprised with what I found.


	21. Commander

My arm hurt abominably. It was as if every charlatan my mother had ever used on me attacked at the same time, with bleeding tools and salt; but I could not care in the least. I was not to be bothered by annoyances. **I had saved someone's life!** Me! Anne de Bourgh! Pale sickly creature, ignored by most, who rarely left Rosings, was widely considered not strong enough to bear a child, or even survive another dozen years! I had just saved Georgianna Darcy's life, and the rest of my days may or may not actually happen, but I would know that at one point in my life, when less than a second was available to make a decision, I had both done the right thing, and done it well; and somebody would live who would have died, all because of me. For the first time in my life, I truly considered myself worthy, and I was insufferably proud of myself. Not a person alive could fault my actions in the parsonage that night, from the moment I started dressing until the moment I shoved my cousin out of the path of destruction.

As you can see, the pain filled me with great joy, great pride, and a certain amount of ineffable strength and dignity. It also filled me with an abundant supply of words to the point where I was worse than my cousin the colonel. I do not imagine even a fully recovered, fully healthy person could actually read this journal without falling asleep from the tedium. I think what I wrote above would be entirely appropriate for the dullest sermon ever delivered by the worst parson, but perhaps it is just the laudanum. Yes that is it… the laudanum. I will write much more clearly when I wake up after a nice little nap.

* * *

Much better! Perhaps you are curious what happened in the few seconds after I had my little altercation with Mr. Collins fire iron. It would be quite some time before I ever learned the _supreme irony_ of his choice of weapons, but at the time all I knew was pure terror.

After I shoved Georgianna out of the way right on top of poor Mary, I felt a Dragon tear my arm from limb to limb, crunch my bones, and swallow them not quite whole because then they would have just been gone… But more like a small piece at a time so he could enjoy my agony. It was the most painful experience of my life, and this from a person who has been exposed to English physicians! Need I say more!

I landed on the floor and was bleeding profusely, but my head was still clear, and I had a suspicion that I would have to worry about the wound becoming septic, but other than that it seemed like something recoverable. There would be a long collection of stitches used to tie up the wound, it would have to be cleaned using techniques best not mentioned involving a lot of laudanum and gin, and it would take months to clear, if I even survived, which was far from certain. I also thought that I could simply abandon any idea of short sleeves at any time during the rest of my life. A short sleeve dress would be enough for me to clear out Hyde Park in a moment, at least the children without gruesome personalities. Please ignore my rambling, and we shall blame it all on the laudanum.

The second I heard my head hit the floor, I also heard two carafes shattering, which meant Darcy had already dropped what he was carrying… good man. He was unfortunately on the wrong side of the table to do any of us any good anytime soon, as it would take many precious seconds for him to work his way around… I thought.

The very next sound I heard was boots on the table, then I saw the terrible... awful… _magnificent_ bout of violence right in front of my eyes. Mr. Collins must either be as tough as a stone gargoyle or just so simple with nothing in his brain that could be damaged, because I was absolutely certain Fitzwilliam would kill him. I am still not certain he will restrain himself when he gets around to it, but that one punch should really have done the job, but Collins was still rolling around on the ground reaching for the lost poker after he went down.

Fitzwilliam looked at me, and having been injured before, I believed I was perfectly well for at least a few minutes. I gave him a stern nod towards his real duty, pretending for a moment I was Elizabeth, and much to my relief, he obeyed me with the same alacrity he applied to her. What a besotted fool he was, but at that moment, for the first time, I believed I might love him as a cousin.

I had no need of his assistance. Richard and Mother would take care of me, and I was most worried about Elizabeth. My eyes are locked on her prostrate form, fearing the worst, and I was happy it did not take very much convincing to drop Darcy to the ground, whereupon he started caring for her with a look of tenderness and sadness that could not be mistaken by anybody for anything but love. I imagine he might have worried about Georgianna, but absent her having actually taken the fire iron in the head; I could not imagine anything that would dissuade him from tending to Elizabeth once he had seen to my safety.

The next voice I heard was most surprising. I would have imagined it to be either my cousin the Colonel; since he received extensive training and was likely to be soon promoted to General, or possibly Sergeant McDonald when he got really really angry, and now seemed a good time for that. In reality, it was Miss Jane Bennet, but she carried the voice of authority that was not to be gainsaid, and was thunderous in its intensity.

" **Lydia put that iron down this instant!"**

I looked over and took as much amusement as I possibly could from the fact that my cousin the Colonel was holding Miss Lydia around a foot off the ground with his arm around her waist, while he attempted to retrieve the fire iron from her hands, to prevent her from killing Mr. Collins. I assumed having her kill Mr. Collins might be inconvenient, so I wished him luck, but he was certainly having trouble before Miss Bennett the eldest put her foot down. Looking somewhat contrite, the youngest Miss Bennett put down the iron, asked the Colonel to put her down on the floor, and then walked away from the man with only two or three kicks to the side. Her sister was quite something to be able to engender that level of restraint.

I relate this is if it took a leisurely half hour, but Miss Bennet… Jane, as I now know her, had merely taken one breath and the interval was a very short moment.

 **"Lydia! Go downstairs to the kitchen and bring back all of the clean towels. The ones on the upper right corner of the pantry shelf are the cleanest, so bring them first. Bring all of the tea water that is made, and put more on to boil, and bring a little bit of water to cool it off in case it is too hot. Bring half to Lizzy's room and half to mine. When you have that, go upstairs to my room and bring all the clean linen you can. Tear up my shifts we had cleaned last week."**

The two sisters ran for the stairway at a run.

 **"Kitty, you will you help Miss Darcy take care of Miss de Bourgh. That wound will need to be cleaned, dressed, and taken care of. She needs a bed but should not be in the same room with Lizzy. The colonel can take her up to my room, with your permission Lady Catherine!"**

She was not actually asking permission, she was just being polite. Nobody in this room was going to argue with Jane Bennet.

Mother said, "Of course."

 **"Mr. Darcy, I need you to get Lizzy into her room and into bed. I will be with you shortly that I might undress her and examine her wounds."**

That one seemed pointless since Darcy had already carried Miss Elizabeth halfway across the room, and was going slow and steady because he was clearly worried about injuring her more. I had watched him as he picked her up careful as a newborn babe, and noticed he placed her bleeding head very carefully against his waistcoat using it as a bandage, and he had ripped his cravat off like a madman and wrapped it around her arm before he picked her up. I had to admire it, and that made me think about what was happening in my own wounds, which were certainly bleeding all over the floor as I indulged my distractions… or really, anything to keep me from the pain.

I looked down and was quite surprised to see my arm was no longer bleeding profusely, primarily because it was entirely covered in yellow! Covered in yellow! For that matter I was not lying directly on the floor anymore, and seemed to be in a more comfortable position, even though I was certain it had been far less than a minute since the whole thing began.

It was easy enough to follow what other people were doing, but harder with my own position. I eventually figured out that I was sitting with my head on Georgianna's lap, and she had apparently yanked off her petticoat and wrapped it around my arm, followed by her skirt when the blood seeped through. She could not get up at the moment because I was lying in her lap, and she was still wearing the dress wrapped around my arm.

I would have laughed in amusement if I was capable of it, because it _was_ quite the silliest thing I had ever seen. I admired her ingenuity, and her industry, as she had obviously already taking care of me well before Miss Bennett started shouting orders.

Speaking of Miss Bennett, she was not finished.

 **"Colonel Fitzwilliam! Either subdue that man or kill him! You choose! Then I will need you to carry your cousin upstairs. Miss Darcy has done an admirable job of a quick bandage, so take the scissors from that secretary over there and cut her dress off. She will survive the embarrassment."**

I was getting a little bit fuzzy by that time, and had no idea how long I would remain conscious, but I heard Fitzwilliam pause by the door and say the oddest thing. "Richard, I cannot explain why just now, but we need that cretin alive for some time. I demand a heavy burden I know! Not only must you restrain yourself from killing him, but you cannot even willingly let him die."

Sergeant McDonald stepped up and said, "Will you trust him to me Mr. Darcy? I have failed Elizabeth once, but I shall not do so again!"

The sentiment was extremely odd… What had the sergeant done to fail her?

Fitzwilliam, apparently felt this conversation was so important he would need to delay his treatment of Elizabeth, who was still well settled in his arms, and replied, "You did no such thing Sargent. Neither you nor anyone else could have predicted this, and if that is not the case, we _all failed the ladies_. I failed quite as much as you, but I suspect it would be more productive to reflect on what we can do in the future rather than the past. If you will take responsibility for him I would be happy. You may have whatever funds are required, but he is never to step foot within 100 yards of Elizabeth or any other woman again."

"I have the perfect place. Leave him in my hands."

And with that, the Sergeant did in fact drag the man away, and nobody knew or cared where he was going to.

Miss Bennett was not by any means finished."

 **"Mary! Go out into the lane, find Lady Catherine's coachman, go with him to the village and come back with the best physician you can find. Either get the name of the best from Lady Catherine, or take Mrs. Hewes with you, but do not come back without at least an apothecary. My apologies Lady Catherine, I did not ask permission. May we?"**

Mother seemed very subdued. She was now sitting beside me along with Georgianna, but she rallied and started issuing her own instructions.

"That is a sensible plan. I must attend Anne so may I depend on you, Miss Mary, to relay instructions? Tell Murphy to take two horses out of the traces, before he leaves with you. I ask you to go so you can explain in detail what the doctor is to face. Go straight to Wilson, right next to the haberdashery shop. Tell the two footmen to take the remaining horses back to Rosings. They are to be back here within the half hour, with the two best express riders they have and my four best horses. They will be going to town for Darcy's physician. The Colonel will give them detailed instructions."

She paused to organize her thoughts for only a moment, and I had to admit I wasn't the only de Bourgh that could claim some pride in a clear head. Mother then continued, "I also need them to bring all of the linen bandages in the house, all of the laudanum, my housekeeper, and at least 5 bottles of gin. They shall also bring three or four footman and three maids so that we may do what needs to be done. Miss Bennett, are you quite capable of your assigned task?"

I was so proud of my mother. Here in the midst of all this, she and Jane Bennett were planning a campaign to save myself and Mrs. Collins, and doing so beautifully.

Miss Mary had been hiking her skirts and nodding vigorously at each point, and when mother was finished she took off for the door like a shot, only to be slowed by Mrs. Hewes to don her pelisse which I doubt very much she would have remembered on her own, then she was out the front door at a run again; presumably. I could not see that far.

Mrs. Hewes was now attending me, as I had expected all along. She had somehow managed to obtain a little bit of laudanum from somewhere, so that was the end of what I heard, but I am quite certain there was pandemonium all around. My cousin the Colonel followed his instructions and carried me upstairs while telling me he had seen worse and I would be fine. What a fine liar he's was, but I did not hold any anger towards him.

It would be some days before I would really know what happened next.


	22. Secrets

Years of difficulties had at the very least taught me to focus on what was important, but I knew that I would be chastising myself for failing to protect Elizabeth at my leisure for the rest of my life, and if she died or did not recover, I would never be whole again. However, all of that could come later.

Jane organized the pandemonium like a General, and for that I was grateful as I could not have done it, or anything at all that did not involve caring for Elizabeth. I was happy as I left the room to see that everyone else in the room was snapping-to with Jane's instructions. What a double and triple fool Bingley and I were, to abandon such a woman. Lydia was still a bit high strung, but fortunately Richard was there to keep her from killing Collins, and since she was only trying to complete my unfinished business, I could not be critical of her. I was not sure I would have been distressed by his death anyway, since every Bennet I cared about was now under my protection, such as it was; but I did not want Elizabeth distressed, nor did I want any of her choices taken away by me. I had done that one time too many.

All of these thoughts took only seconds, and as I carried her in and laid her gently on her bed, Jane followed me into the room, followed by Catherine and Lydia with the bandages and things Jane demanded.

I alone knew what was about to be revealed, and did not feel I had the strength to reveal it to more than one Bennet sister at a time, so I gently said, "Ladies, I am afraid I cannot tell you all now, but I know things about your sister that you do not. I also know a considerable amount about injuries from my time tending them on my estate, and I believe I must be the one to tend your sisters. I am not a doctor, but I am the closest we have. I ask that all of you except Jane leave the room now. I will ask you to trust me and trust your eldest sister to do the best for Elizabeth."

I worried about Lydia as she was so angry a vein was still pulsing on the side of the neck, but Jane looked at her until she calmed down.

Jane said, "Go help with Miss de Bourgh. Fitzwilliam and I will do as we must."

With that declaration, she was laying down her authority as eldest sister, and master of this house. With use of my given name for the first time in their presence, she was telling them we had reached some type of understanding that they were not privy to. Both girls were smart enough to work it out immediately, and said, "All right, Jane. We will trust you Mr. Darcy."

Without another word, they left, knowing the importance of our task, and I was content to know that I could trust both to do what needed to be done. I now faced Jane and spoke softly.

"Jane, you will be shocked by what you see, and I ask that you defer asking me how I know about it until later. I have been your sister's confidant this past week, so prepare yourself."

She nodded, so I leaned down to the bed where Elizabeth was lying without making a sound or moving. I had checked her breathing and even listened to her heart when I laid her down, so I knew she was alive but hanging on by a thread.

I gently inspected the wound on her scalp, and then rolled her on her side to examine her arm. The dress was in the way and I cursed how long it would take to get off without further injury, but then I saw a cleverly hidden slit in the side of the dress and knew what to do. I reached inside and extracted her knife, which I knew to be the sharpest knife in the house, and probably the sharpest knife in Kent. Jane gasped at the action but said not a word as I sliced her dress cleanly down a seam and removed the sleeve. Then I simply used the knife to cut all the buttons off the back in one slash, cut the rest of the bodice in pieces, and pulled the rest of the dress off her so I could inspect for any other injuries. I needed to examine everything for injury, so her stays got the same treatment.

Jane saw the scars on her back first, something I had yet to see before, followed by those on her legs. Everything obviously became clear for her at once, and I was certain she knew all of the story that was important. I would have time to tell her the rest later. I was most proud of Jane, as she flinched only a moment, took in the scars at a glance, and then calmly walked around the bed to help with her arm which was still bleeding. Like me, she would cry later, but not when she was needed.

I heard a knock on the door, and Lydia's voice saying, "Jane. Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Hewes is here with laudanum. We have put more bed linens right outside the door. You will need them. I will not allow anyone else in the room. Miss de Bourgh is attended by her mother, the Colonel, Miss Darcy and Kitty. Mr. Darcy, your sister is fine except for her understandable concern over Miss de Bourgh. The footmen are not back from Rosings yet. I will be sitting here if you need anything, and Mrs. Hewes is here as well."

I had already started cleaning and examining the wounds carefully, a little at a time; checking for broken bones or other maladies as I went. The linens they brought from the kitchen would suffice for the moment, but not for long. Soon we would have to be cleaning them with the gin my aunt had called for, and bandaging them properly.

I glanced at Jane staring at the scars. She shuddered a moment, as she helped me with the cleaning, then said in a remarkably steady voice, "Lydia, I need you to put the absolutely severest clamp on your temper, and I warn you it will be nearly impossible to contain, and then come in here."

I looked at her in shock, not at all prepared to deal with Miss Lydia, but much like Elizabeth, when Jane Bennet made a decision, there was little point in debate.

Lydia came in, and Jane showed her what we were dealing with. The vein once again started pulsing on her neck, and I wondered at the wisdom of sharing this with her right at this time, but she stared at the scars as if memorizing them for a later accounting, shuddered several times and then squared her shoulders and said, "He is a dead man! Now tell me what to do."

I had already as much as decided that the Bennet sisters were to be under my protection, and at that moment, I decided that to the best of my ability they would be my sisters. If Elizabeth survived, and I managed to convince her to have me, they would be my sisters in fact. If either of those should not come to pass, they would still be my sisters, in word and deed, if not in law. I now thought the hardest thing about getting them married would be finding men worthy of them, not the other way round.

Working slowly and carefully, I showed the sisters everything I knew about cleaning and dressing wounds, and Elizabeth was cleaned up and bandaged by the time the doctor came from Hunsford with a breathless Mary.

Jane asked Mary go trade places with Catherine, apparently deciding that there were to be no more secrets between the sisters, and after a huddled conference with the sisters, she showed them Elizabeth's legs just so they would know what they were dealing with.

The doctor performed his own examination and made his own suggestions, but asserted that Jane and I had done everything that could be done. She remained unconscious, so when the footmen arrived with the strongest gin in Kent, we used it to clean and dress the wounds with a salve the doctor brought while he went upstairs to do the same for Anne.

Once the sisters were engaged in caring for Elizabeth, and I was convinced they knew what they were about, I went above-stairs to check on my cousin Anne. I might have felt guilty about abandoning her to her fate, but I knew that my cousins Richard knew as much about wound care as I, and in fact, probably more. Not everyone in the army was as knowledgeable as we were, and much of the care for wounded men was little more effective than giving them to a witch-doctor. Richard had learned that early and come to me to study the things I had learned, and we both read and learned together until we thought we could make good doctors if it came right down to it.

Anne did not have the monstrous wound to her head that Elizabeth had, nor had she lost consciousness before the laudanum was administered, and we believed that to be a good sign. We cleaned and dressed her wounds the same as Elizabeth's, and now it was time to wait.

Now was the time to wait… endlessly… impatiently… fearfully. Now began the worst time of my life. Worse than waiting for my mother to die. Worse than waiting for my father to die. In fact, I could imagine a worse ordeal, but my fate had been sealed. I would wait for the love of my life to recover, and then I would see if she would have me… on any terms she would care to name.


	23. Tttttthhhhhhwack

_A/N: OK, I admit it. Those last three chapters were a bit of an abrupt surprise, and I was honestly a bit nervous about pushing the button because I knew it was going to be a shock. From the reviews, I'd say most of you either liked it a lot or are unwilling to be critical so I guess it was OK. In some ways it may seem like I painted myself into a corner (funny, one reviewer said that using one of my own favorite expressions), but that wasn't really the case. This chapter was in my mind ever since I wrote chapter 1, and I very deliberately was trying to work my way up to it. I mean, who can resist Collins laying about with the same fire-iron. Maybe you could resist, but I couldn't._

 _Several people wondered about how Collins could be up and about, and why Sergeant MacDonald felt he had failed her. I tried to not give too many clues, so I said his 'mind was gone', nothing about his body except he was unlikely to ever leave his bed. My supposition is that doctors even today aren't really able to predict someone like that, and coma victims frequently have periodic bouts of unexpected behavior. After three months he would most likely be a vegetable, but there is also a chance he might get one last big blast driven purely by adrenalin. I believe 3 months is about as long as you could push that idea though. Sergeant MacDonald feels he should have seen the signs, and Darcy thinks the same. If I can find anyone else to beat themselves up over their lack of psychic foresight, I guess they could all feel guilty together, but in my book, the Sergeant has nothing to apologize for._

 _So, I apologize if I scared you with those chapters. Also, while I'm at it, I do not apologize for scaring you with those chapters. There, I get to have it both ways._

 _I have a new player to introduce, and a bit of a troublesome story, so let's get on with it. Things are starting to work their way to a conclusion, but my plan to end in 25 chapters is pretty much shot. Maybe 30?_

 _Wade_

* * *

 _Tttttthhhhhhwack!_

The sound should have made me flinch. _It did not._

 _Tttttthhhhhhwack!_

The sound should have made me satisfied. _It did not._

 _Tttttthhhhhhwack!_

The sound should have made me feel justified. **_It did not!_**

 _Tttttthhhhhhwack!_

The sound should have made me feel something; good, bad, indifferent, something, anything! **_IT DID NOT!_**

The sight of the whip flying through the air should have made me feel frightened… or safe. It did neither. The vision of the man's hands tied to the pillory or the vision of his blood spattering from his back, falling down across the same trousers that he had dropped to accost me before falling onto the ground, should have made me feel disgusted, or vengeful, or justified. They did neither. The knowledge that this soldier was to endure his 30 lashes, and then be shipped off to France to be killed or tamed should have made me feel safer, more secure, perhaps avenged. It did not. It simply left me feeling empty.

My father would have a fit if he knew I was watching the spectacle. However, my father was in the process of shipping me off to Scotland or god knows where to hide my _'shame'_ , and since he was abandoning me to my own fate, I had very little concern about what he preferred. I was so well past the age of consent that I merely considered it a fond memory, and I would go where my father willed when it was convenient to me. At eight and twenty, I had very few illusions left in life.

I had enough sense to not stand in the crowd that was watching the flogging, and I did not expect to accomplish anything by watching it hidden upstairs in the milliner's shop, but I had been compelled to see it.

This man… if I cared to use that appellation, had traded my spinsterhood, my innocence, my ordered existence, my illusion of safety and security and stability for a few minutes of his pleasure. Now that few minutes of pleasure was being exchanged for several weeks of agony, and a reasonably good chance of dying from the wounds of the lash; followed by a miserable channel crossing, all for the dubious pleasure of trying to survive in the battlefields of France. He was being sent to a regiment well known for taking miserable cretins like him, with what I am told is a horrific survival rate. He would either serve the king admirably, or he would serve the king economically after being shot by his fellow soldiers.

I knew all of this from Colonel Miller. Colonel Miller was not Colonel Forster! He was as opposed in his ways from Colonel Forster as it was possible to be. The mere fact that I got this knowledge directly from his lips would prove the supposition. Colonel Miller was not a man to be crossed.

When the regiment marched into Meryton in 1812, everyone remembered the same regiment that had marched in at about the same time in 1811. Many shopkeepers now remembered the crippling debts run up by the previous regimen, the worst of them being Mr. Wickham, but he was certainly not the only rotten apple in that barrel. Several women of the town were either gone off to distant relatives, or sitting at home taking care of bastard children; all care of Colonel Forster's regimen. The regiment had come, destroyed, and left for Brighton all without any punishment whatsoever.

Colonel Miller was of an entirely different stripe. He was not afraid of the lash, and it was not only enlisted men who received it. Officers who stepped out of line were flogged considerably worse than enlisted, because their position of privilege demanded a higher level of behavior then ignorant farm boys. So said Captain Miller!

For myself, I neither knew nor cared whether this man lived or died. I neither knew near cared whether he was enduring agony or ecstasy with each snap of the whip. I had gone beyond such caring. All of my crying had been done. All of the chastisement from my father had been delivered, with him apparently unaware that _I was the victim_. He only felt shame at my condition, and perhaps embarrassment that one of his daughters had been captured so easily.

It had all happened so innocently. When the regiment came in, everyone remembered the previous year, so all of the girls started walking together for safety. Like all of the others, I strove to do the smart thing at all times. Having remembered some of the men from the previous year, and having heard rumors about that last night at the ball at Netherfield; I was very diligent in my efforts, nor would I allow my sister so slip into carelessness.

This all worked quite well until we found one of our tenants daughters badly injured, down near the bridge over Wright's Creek. We could not tell what was wrong with her so I sent my sister to run quickly for assistance, while I stayed to try to attend to the young girl. She could not possibly have more than fourteen or fifteen years. My sister, true to her word, ran like the wind and had my father and my brother back within half an hour. Unfortunately, that half an hour had been twenty minutes more than it took the soldier to take my innocence, exactly as he had taken the other young girl's.

He had his face covered with a hood, and thought himself quite safe from detection. He was not even wearing a uniform, so it would be difficult to prove _exactly_ who he was. His plan was a good one, and likely to succeed. In fact, it had probably succeeded before. At least it _might have_ succeeded if he had not ended up with four fingernails scratch down his cheek, which made him readily recognizable. Of course, he was arrogant though to think he could tell his own story and have it prevail, particularly since he knew full well any family would try to hush up the scandal.

The man had trapped my arms in place with his size, and taken his way with me before I even had any chance to fight back. He attacked me from behind, threw me on the ground, lifted my skirt and petticoat, grabbed my wrists, and proceeded to indulge his appetites. He was the worst sort of brute, but the whole thing was over before I even got my wits about me. I nearly took his eye out when I got my fingers under the mask, and was lying there with my fingers covered in blood, the other young girl curled up against my chest crying, and the miserable cretin long gone when my sister returned.

My father hung his head in shame, although why he was shamed would be beyond me. Perhaps he should be ashamed that he had failed to protect his daughters, or that he had welcomed the regiment with open arms, or perhaps because he simply could not stand up like a man, accept what had happened, and demand satisfaction. My father was near 60, and having a duel with a 20-year-old militia man was not likely to end well, but he could have demanded satisfaction from the man's commander, or sent my brother to defend both our honor and the next victim… Yet he did not. He thought to protect the family's precious _reputation_ at my expense, and had I not fallen with child, I might well have agreed with him. My sister need not suffer my fate, although I had to wonder how many women in England were suffering because fathers and brothers looked out for the family interest, at the expense of justice.

Fortunately for me, or perhaps not, Colonel Miller noticed my countenance the next time I went into Meryton, and he had definitely noticed the scratch marks on one of his officers faces, despite his best efforts to hide them.

Colonel Miller was not a man gifted in conversation. He was not a man gifted in propriety. He was not a man gifted in manners. He was not a man gifted in subtlety. He simply marched in front of me, and stared me down.

"I will need to see that hand, if you please, Miss."

I had nearly run him down, and had put the offending hand inside my pelisse.

"I would rather not, Colonel."

"You may send your father or brother to take their justice when we are through, but I am afraid I truly must insist. It is a matter of great importance."

He was not subtle, but he had at least arranged our little encounter where we would not be seen and remarked upon. We were in the open, maintaining all propriety, but not where anybody could actually see us right at that moment. I did not know what in my countenance had alerted him; but I suspected this not his first trip to this particular well.

"You ask much, Colonel."

"I do."

I liked the way he refrained from prevarication, or excuses or justification or flattery or empty words. He was not a man to be crossed, nor did he pretend to be. His duty was to the entire population, and sometimes difficult and unfair things had to be done for the greater good. He never explained that, but I managed to figure it out while standing in front of him. Had it required his explanation, he would not have been the man for the job. Having made my choice, I carefully removed my hand from my pelisse, and removed my glove.

With a maneuver that would be considered both forward and crass, but the gentlest of touches, and the utmost respect, he examined my hand minutely and carefully. I was not at all best pleased with my very first experience of a man holding my ungloved hand, but I endured it. In another time and another place, I may well have welcomed the man, but that opportunity was long gone.

My fingernails were even three weeks later still ripped and torn, and they were the exact size, length and space to match up with his miscreants face. He stared at me hard, and I finally nodded. I know not whether he was asking my confirmation or my permission, but I was willing to give both with the understanding that he would do his duty.

"May I presume events occurred in the way these scratches indicate?"

"You may."

Looking uncomfortable, he still continued relentlessly, "Did the events proceed all the way to the conclusion I am expecting?"

"They did."

"And have there been… the expected consequences."

I turned red, stared at my feet, and said, "It is too early to be certain, but most likely yes. The signs are not propitious."

He looked at me in what I believed to be understanding. Perhaps another man may have preferred to show sympathy, but that was neither what he could deliver; nor what I needed.

He finally replied, "Thank you. I know that was difficult, and a lot for me to ask. I am truly sorry."

Not only was Colonel Miller not a subtle man, he was also not a stupid man. He knew what happened in situations like this, how fathers would blame their daughters, brothers would ignore the truth in front of their face, and the family's reputation would be saved at all costs. Colonel Miller knew this, but fortunately for me, or perhaps unfortunately for his man, Colonel Miller did not give a rat's ass what girl's father's thought. If one of his men misbehaved, it was up to fathers to bring them to him for justice, and if they failed their duty, it was up to Colonel Miller. If that required confirmation from the victim directly, so be it.

"Colonel Miller"

He looked at me and nodded, and I added, "I was not the only one. Two on that day alone, but I shan't break another's confidence. The second is but fourteen. She is damaged, colonel; but has at least been spared the _particular consequences_."

He held a grim expression, and said, "Her testimony will be unnecessary. Yours is quite enough for the punishment that is due. I know it will not be much of a help, but your name shall not be mentioned in my actions."

I nodded, and the deed was done.

Truth be told, I believe Colonel Miller actually enjoyed deploying the lash. He certainly never assigned the task to anyone save himself, and he had quite the skill, and frankly, the frightening look of a predator when he was at his _work._

By the time the 30th lash had been laid right on top of the 29th lash, which to the best of my knowledge was right on top of the 28th lash, the man was bleeding like a stuck pig, hanging from the pillory by the chains on his wrists, and begging for mercy.

All of this had a profound effect on me. Well actually, that's a lie. It had no effect whatsoever. The Colonel could have killed him and I would have thought no more nor less of it. Pillory and noose were all the same to me. It was just the way it was, and I know would have a different life. So be it.

My father, bless his ancient heart, arranged transportation for me to go to a distant relative somewhere in Scotland. This was a good plan. It was a thoughtful plan. It was an excellent plan. It served all the various purposes for all the various players. In fact, it had every chance of actually getting me to the said relatives in Scotland with only a minimum of fuss and bother, and very little effect on my father, brother and sister; who would go on just as before, but short one spinster daughter.

I went along with the plan in principle because I _did know_ that my sister's life would be materially affected if I stayed, and she had done nothing wrong in her life. Now I probably should mention that when I say _'In principle'_ it really means _'I_ _borrowed_ _an enormous amount of money from my father and my brother; everything I could find about the house or convince some tradesmen was owed; combined it with some money I borrowed from a few neighbors, with promises of repayment from my father and brother.'_

When I finally did leave, nearly two months after the incident, I was in my own chosen post coach, on my own chosen schedule, to my own destination with my father and brother none the wiser. I was still about a month from really showing my condition, and I had arranged to spend a few weeks in town as a sort of holiday before our lives were thrown to the wolves. I did not want my father or brother to have an easy time ascertaining my true destination.

When I left, I also had my own companion, Betsy Clymer, who had fared no better with her father and brother, but at least was not with child. She could not possibly eat much, and since I thought I might well need to learn how to do real work, I thought we might be useful to each other. She could teach; I could protect. Even if not, I just could not leave her to her fate, since she obviously did not have any conveniently well-off brothers to steal from. We would make do.

As I say, I followed the plan in principle, but since I considered the primary principle to be my absence, one absence should serve their purpose as well as any other.

I knew where I was going, but had no idea whether I would be welcomed. It mattered not, since I had actually managed to liberate enough funds to go to my relatives in Scotland if necessary, and even if not, I could always threaten to return and my father would send all the funds I needed by the fastest express rider he could find; particularly if I threatened to return with Betsy and two babes!

I begin to wonder why it was that us English considered the Scottish to be somehow below us, when they were charitable enough to take in our wayward daughters with hardly a second thought. In reality, I thought perhaps the Scots were superior, and we simply had to look down on them to make us feel better. I thought I might like to go to my relatives in Scotland just to see if my supposition were true, but I did not quite have the courage for that before I tried something else.

The day I left town, I did so on my own terms. I had a short journey to take, as well as a spiritual journey from acknowledge spinster to mother. I thought I might be able to fashion a Mrs. to stick to a surname, it mattered not which name. Considering the fact that the natural father of this child was almost certain to die in France, then I should be able to hold myself out as a respectable war widow. It could be done. Nobody would distrust the notion, since it happened nearly every day in nearly every neighborhood. I would however need some assistance in arranging the particulars.

It seemed that I was in need of a parson that might be willing to sign a wedding register without being overly particular about presence or lack of the groom; or perhaps one that was too stupid to keep careful track of said register. A parson's wife who might possibly be willing to do a tiny insignificant little favor for her former best friend might also be just the trick. If none of that worked out, I would be no worse off than I was now. Come to think of it, I was so angry with my father and brother, I sometimes thought I would be happier as Cyprian in London, but that thought was obviously irrational, so perhaps… perhaps I was not so unaffected after all.

I really only had one direction I could go where I might be able to create some kind of life. I would be poor as a rat, unless I managed to trade in my widow's weeds for a husband. I understood widows had a certain amount of cachet, certainly more so than a country gentleman's spinster daughter, but having another man's child and a tiny dowry might make things difficult; unless of course I did liberate a dowry by threatening to return, child in hand. Yes, that scheme could work. Wedding another soldier would not be ideal, but a farmer or tradesmen was not out of the question, and I thought I could be quite happy. If I ended up with my own home, how could I repine?

It all hinged on being able to make a reasonable case that I was a widow. It was an easy enough assertion to make. Father of the child sent to war: truth! Father of the child killed in action: eventual truth! Marital status of the union: fully consummated! What more could possibly be required? As long as they did not quibble about any little niceties such as the saying of vows, reading of banns, that sort of thing, all should be well.

I just needed to get a few signatures on a piece of paper, and the only place I felt certain I could make that happen was in Kent. My journey was to take me into the little village of Hunsford, where I hoped I would be able to make the right story to be able to have my life become something not-miserable sometime in the future.

I left with the one indomitable hope that would not go away. It was the hope that would drive me the 50 miles I needed to go, and the hundreds of miles I would have to go after that, and all of the pain of childbirth, and the pain of raising a child on little money, and the uncertainty of life. There was only one thing I knew about all of this, and even it had been sorely tested by the past year.

Lizzy! I knew for a fact that if I could get myself to Kent, Lizzy would help me. Lizzy could be depended upon, and considering the miserable wretch she was chained to, all of my needs for the stupidest parson in England should be satisfied in one place.

I hoped beyond reason that one day I could repay her by performing some task for her. That was my biggest hope as I climbed into the coach with Betsy in tow, ready to claim our lives.


	24. Bargain

_A/N: Last 4 chapters were pretty heavy going… well, actually really heavy going so hope you all survived it. This one has no instruments of torture except my dialogue, so see what you think. Wade_

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"Fitzwilliam, I need to talk to you about Elizabeth."

Despite all efforts to make my voice calm and soothing, my nephew startled at the sound. I was not certain he had even heard the carriage arrive, but I could not tell if that was pure devotion or the fact that he had not had more than a few hours' sleep in ages. He answered carefully.

"Yes, Aunt. What is it?"

I knew the rest of conversation was going to be difficult so I sat down in another chair facing him. Mrs. Hewes had moved out of this room for obvious reasons, but it was still crowded as there were frequently three or four people who wanted their share of the company, and several mismatched chairs had been brought in for their comfort. Fitzwilliam was not alarmed at my use of Elizabeth's given name. There was not a single person in our circle that was willing to speak the alternative, and I truly thought Elizabeth would not mind in the least. In fact, I would welcome her censure and the ensuing argument, should she just be able to once again participate in it. I missed her terribly, and I had only had one real conversation with her.

I could see my nephew's attention drifting back to the bed. I would have moved the conversation to the parlor, but that would have only had him staring at the door, rather than Elizabeth. I thought it best to just get it out, and then the real battle could begin in earnest.

"Fitzwilliam, it has been six weeks. Neither your constant care, nor the seventeen physicians you have brought in have changed the fact that Elizabeth's recovery is now entirely in her own hands. We do not know if, or when she will recover, but your constant attendance will not change the outcome, and her condition is stable enough that the physicians say she can be moved. It is time to take her to Rosings."

As expected, his head snapped back to me, and his full attention, or as much of it as I was likely to get was engaged. As obvious as the notion was to me, it was clear it had never even occurred to him.

He said, "That would be inconvenient for her sisters."

I just shook my head, and said, "Do not pretend to obtuseness Fitzwilliam, it does not suit you! Of course, all of her sisters will come as well; and stay as long as they like. Mrs. Hewes will be married to the Sergeant soon enough once we get Elizabeth to Rosings."

He still seemed to not be quite following where I was leading, so I continued my assault.

"Come Fitzwilliam. You cannot remain living in a parsonage with five unmarried girls while you pretend to live at Rosings, and do not forget that you are master of a great estate, _which needs your attention._ While we are at it, I shall mention that Anne has barely managed to leave her bed. She cannot be expected to visit here, nor should she be denied the right to attend Elizabeth. We have ample room at Rosings. The Bennets will be welcome in the family wing. All shall be well."

He still seemed unconvinced, so I continued.

"Fitzwilliam, you have done all that can be done. The first three weeks we all thought we might lose both girls to the fevers, and I must admit I spent more than one night praying for their recovery. I alternated with every god I have ever heard of. I know not if it was effective, but I gave it my all and I had and consulted my own flock of physicians as well. You did all you could do. You bathed her; I dare say you have dressed her. You brought ice and river water and everything else anyone could think of. You dressed her wounds, and applied the salves, and read her stories and poetry. Oh yes, do not think me ignorant of what goes on here! You did what could be done. _No man could have done more."_

He looked down at his boots, or at least where his boots normally would be. Now, it was just his stockinged feet, but far be it from me to comment on that.

He said, "You know I failed her. More than once."

I was not liking the direction of this conversation, so I said, "No, Fitzwilliam… I failed her."

This had his head snapping back up to stare me down, but I was not to be intimidated by a slip of a boy, even if he had grown into his size.

I said, "I will not ask what happened in Hertfordshire. Let us just presume you may or may not have failed her there. Since then, you arrived on Friday, and she was struck down by that abomination on the following Friday. You had _six days_ to learn of her danger. I had eleven months! Eleven months shackled to _my parson_. Eleven months under _my protection_ _._ Eleven months a half‑mile from _my estate_ _._ The signs were there! In retrospect, she could have not been clearer if she had shouted it from the rooftops, but I did not even look for them. No, Fitzwilliam, I will allow you to have your share of the censure if you insist, but I will have mine as well. If anyone failed her, we both did."

He seemed ready to protest, but I was not to be denied in this conversation.

"Tell me something nephew! Can you pretend you do not already consider all of the Bennets your sisters, even if you have not discussed it with them? Can you name one service a sister would require that you will not only willingly provide, but will insist on with the stubbornness of a stone? Are you not already talking with your solicitors about dowries and thinking of suitors and how to protect them? Deny all of this if you can, but do not take me for a fool!"

He just nodded calmly, and said, "I can deny none of those."

I continued, "Do you not see, that makes them sisters to Georgiana and cousins to Anne. They are by inclination, honor and duty _my family_ now. Absent taking the whole lot to Pemberley, they should be on my estate, not stuck in a parsonage waiting for who knows what. They have your protection, but will you deny them mine? I know we have not seen eye to eye on all things nephew, and I know you have little reason to trust in my judgment… but I am asking you to do so now. Put aside any differences between us and think of Elizabeth and her sisters. Will you deny me my chance to offer my home and my affection?"

He, good man that he was, could finally start to see where I was leading, and as I expected, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about it. He would not deny my words simply out of rote. He would not disagree just because he could. He would do what was right, even when it was completely wrong. It had never occurred to him that I might have any affection for such as the Bennet sisters, and it was entirely likely that before this event, I would not have. But that was the past, and there was no point in litigating it. Now, we needed to do what was necessary for the family.

He at length came back and said, "What about the parsonage? When she wakes up, will she be happy that we have denied her a choice? She has had too many of what by all rights should be _her_ choices dictated by others. I am not inclined to add my own burdens to her."

So, now he was on much weaker ground, but not defeated. I asked, "You seem to know much about her private matters."

He looked at me with a clouded expression, and said, "I do, but I will not explain how I came to be in her confidence. Simply accept that I am."

I was not about to delve into the particulars of that, so I simply decided to chop off the legs off his argument at the knees.

"I propose this. Bring her to Rosings. She will go in the family wing in the blue room, across the hall from Anne. Georgiana has already ensconced herself in the room next to Anne's, and will not be moved anytime soon while the Bennets are in Kent. Put Jane and Lydia in the pink room, and Mary and Kitty on the other side, or allow them to each have a room. Elizabeth will be surrounded by sisters on all sides at all times. _When you are in attendance_ , you will be right down the hall."

He seemed ready to argue again, but I was not about to let him have his share of the conversation until I had my say.

"I suggest we put the curate in the parsonage, and I will offer him a salary sufficient to take a wife. I will charge them to keep the parsonage exactly as it is for one year. Should Collins die, I will have to give the living, and he would be suitable."

He took a breath to speak, and I said, "I am not finished. I will set up an annuity for the same amount as the living, and assign it to Elizabeth. She will lose no choices, except for being forced to Rosings, and if she finds that distasteful, _you_ will find her another home that suits her."

He had clearly not expected any of this from me. He had expected nothing of the sort, and I could clearly try to see him reconciling this behavior with his accepted view of the world.

I leaned forward and said, "I wish to do this Fitzwilliam, will you deny me? You have your own reasons, and I have mine."

He finally nodded in agreement, and I thought then about taking my victory and moving about my business, but I was not finished yet.

I gently said, "There is another thing we must discuss, Fitzwilliam… your duty!"

I could see some anger starting to build almost immediately, and I sought to slow it by saying, "I do not mean my previous desire for you to marry Anne! That is clearly preposterous now, but I feel you are neglecting your _other duties_."

To his credit, I could see his anger nearly ready to overflow his admittedly weak control, but he brought it under control and asked, "What do you mean?"

I thought there was no use in prevaricating, so I said, "Your duty to your estate. Your duty to your family. Your duty to your future generations. All are being materially hurt by your inability to leave this room and focus on you duties, or even to get a full night's sleep."

He chuckled, but it was a grim sort of chuckle with not the slightest bit of humor in it.

He said, "Aunt, you and Elizabeth could be sisters. She chided me on my duty with almost the same words, although hers were primarily aimed at my failure to produce an heir."

This surprised me, and I asked, "Was she proposing herself as the answer to this problem?"

He just shook his head, and said, "Now you sound like me! Please make up your mind."

That brought up a small smile. I could not remember the last teasing remark between us, and doubted there had ever been even one.

He continued, "She and I have a… complicated… er… unusual… history. She could not stand me a week before that supper. I was just about the last man in the world she would have wanted for a husband."

I prompted, "And later, when she reminded you about your duty?"

He looked at me, and said, "I will not violate her confidence, but suffice it to say, she was not advocating for the position. She was more like a mama bear running her cub off into the woods. She was telling me that she would _not_ be the mother of my heirs, but that _someone would_ , and sooner rather than later. She is not a woman for mincing words, once you get her started. She chided me for not starting five or more years ago… at some length… and with some vigor."

I liked Elizabeth more and more, and opined, "It seems she has more sense than you do. She was right, you know!"

He looked pained, and said, "I know that, but I cannot. Not while she is… not while… not while there is hope."

I asked, "Should she recover fully, and Collins meet his maker, would she accept you?"

He looked pained, and said, "Probably not. Not yet, at least. She swore to _never_ marry again, and she was deadly serious about it, and you have no idea how implacable and brave she can be."

I was not anywhere foolhardy enough to wade into a discussion of how he knew all of this, so I simply said, "I will not ask you to break any more of her confidence, but do you believe you might change her mind."

"I do not know, but I must try."

I sensed he was close to a breaking point, and said, "Let us delay the talk of an heir for a few moments. What about Pemberley? Do you intend to take care of your estate? Do you intend to oversee the spring planting, or simply leave it to your steward and hope for the best? Do you intend to resolve your tenant disputes, fix the rest of the damage from this very terrible year? Make your estate what it was? Do your duty to the hundreds that look to you for their very life?"

He looked more pained with every reminder of what he was _not_ doing, but seemed like he was hardening himself against my arguments, instead of really listening.

I finally decided that I must get through to him. His estate, and I believed, ultimately his self-respect and pride would not recover should he continue in this vein.

I said, "Fitzwilliam, I am going to share something with you that I overheard, which was neither for your ears nor mine. I will chastise myself to the grave for it, but I will do it nonetheless."

I had his full and undivided attention now, so I asked, "Do you have any idea what Georgiana thinks about your father? I overheard her telling Anne in confidence."

He just shook his head, and said, "Like many things, I never really thought about it."

I said, "Perhaps you should. She believes he was a _coward!"_

His head snapped forward as he sat up in his chair in alarm and said, "Repeat that!"

I said, " _A coward._ Do you care to know why?"

He clearly did not but would not shirk, so he nodded without a word.

I said, "Because his wife died, as happens from time to time, and your father _gave up_. He gave up on his son, he gave up on his estate, he gave up on his duty, and he gave up on his daughter. She truly believes he was a coward, and I doubt you could remove the idea from her mind, even should you have the poor sense to try, or even mention this conversation."

He was clearly thinking through all I had said, and seemed to be just filling time while he thought by saying, "I am not the brightest man in the world aunt, but _even I_ know better than that."

I left him a moment to think about it, and thought it might be some time before he could either accept her viewpoint or argue persuasively against it. Such pondering was best done alone, so I thought to fire my last shot, as I was exhausted and I wanted Elizabeth in Rosings before supper.

"Think on this Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth may live or she may not. Should she live, she may come back whole in mind or spirit or she may not. Should she come back whole, she may accept your addresses or she may not. None of these are under your control, and sitting here staring at her will not change the outcome. Will you at least agree to that?"

He nodded unhappily, so I continued.

"Georgiana on the other hand is half a mile from here, in a place she is not to be moved from by you or anybody; watching her brother repeat her father's mistakes. Is this what you want for your sister?"

He looked shocked at the idea, so I continued, "Should Elizabeth recover fully, do you really want to spend the first fortnight of your courtship having her criticize your devotion to your duty? Do you want her to have to shepherd your sister through her introduction to society carrying your defects on her shoulders? Do you want to deliver her as mistress to a Pemberley that is whole, or one as neglected as her father's estate?"

Now he was very near to either an explosion of anger or a bout of silent sulking, but I was not finished.

"With this one exception, you have been a wonderful and diligent master since your father died Fitzwilliam. Never doubt that, but you cannot relent now. I have thought of this for many days, and I have a suggestion."

He calmed down enough to listen, and I judged him ready for the rest.

"It is clear that if Elizabeth recovers, you will try to make her yours. Nobody will dissuade your from that course until there is no hope, is that not so?"

He simply nodded, so I continued.

"I will offer this bargain. I know I have no true bargaining power or standing, but I will offer anyway. I will refrain from hounding you about marrying for _one year_ , and I will also _restrain your uncle_ and the rest of your relatives. They listen to me when I am reasonable. Not a word of censure shall pass my lips if you _attend to all your other duties with diligence._ Leave Elizabeth in my care, and I will have each of her six sisters write you a few lines every single day, and I will keep an express rider at the ready to alert you within the hour if she awakes. I want you in Kent no more than half of your time."

He looked ready to argue, so I forestalled him.

"You must also see to your future and the security of the estate that has been in Darcy hands for centuries, and you cannot wait a year for that. Make Richard either your heir, or the guardian for a future child Georgiana may have. Take him out of that madness on the continent, take him to Pemberley and _teach him to run an estate_. Should Elizabeth recover, and should you wed and do as is proper, then I will buy Richard an estate, or possibly convince him to marry Anne and take Rosings, or I may split off a piece of Rosings. Should you meet your demise, Richard will have a start and his education can be continued by his brother and father, and Pemberley will not be damaged."

My nephew was looking shaken, but I thought I should have all the terms of the bargain down before he agreed or disagreed.

"There is one more thing, nephew. _If in one year, Elizabeth is not back and willing to take your addresses, you_ _will_ _find a wife and you_ _will_ _be happy._ You may take one of her sisters if they will have you, as seems likely, or find another, but you will not spend your life pining away for something you cannot have. I will take care of your lady love for the rest of my life and insure her care on my demise. I will take care of your sister and her sisters whenever you are not in attendance. _You must do this nephew_ , and you must tell Georgina what you will do if you wish her to come into society whole and ready for the _ton_."

I saw him starting to think deeply, and I doubted he could give me an answer for at least a day. I strongly suspect that given the opportunity, he would simply lay down on the bed with Elizabeth and go to sleep, and when I left that was well within the realm of possibility.

I said, "I will send my footmen with a wagon for Elizabeth. _You will bring her and her sisters to Rosings by supper?_ I will dispatch a footman and a maid to see to the parsonage while we work out the particulars with the curate."

He nodded in agreement, and I was satisfied.

"You will also sleep in your own room, after you have your valet make you look like a gentleman instead of a barbarian. _All night, if you please._ I will be with Elizabeth, armed with a club."

I managed to force a small grin out of him, and I left the parsonage well satisfied. I left it to Fitzwilliam to tell the Bennet sisters. Soon enough they would be under my roof, and soon after that they would no longer fear me. Perhaps one day they would esteem me.

For the moment, I had things to do, and two girls of my own to tell the good news to. I was already expecting to tolerate a nearly fatal bout of girlish giggling.


	25. Stupidity

_A/N: A quite longish chapter today. The last four have been on the heavy side (OK the very heavy side), so how about if I lighten things up just a bit. This is about 2-3 of my normal chapters, and I have no idea if it's Goldilocks or Papa Bear. You tell me – fluff or stuff? Wade_

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· The Annals of Stupidity

· A Few Thoughts on Stupidity

· Stupidity and Continental War

· The Art of the Stupidity of War

As you can see, I am preparing myself for a new career as a lecturer at Cambridge. I believe I will hold a symposium on the subject of stupidity, of which I am a world renowned expert. I believe it certainly should pay well, and will offer a fair number of advantages over my current occupation, which frequently involves sleeping on the ground in my greatcoat, marching for days, being shot at, being hacked at with swords, being hacked at with bludgeons, being stabbed at with knives, bad food, bad lodgings, worse generalship _and routine channel crossings._ As you can see, the University life offers certain advantages.

After roughly a decade in the regulars, working my way up to Colonel, I believe I can speak on the subject with true authority. I've seen it all. I've seen the stupid man _first into the breach for King and Country_ and therefore first into the grave; if we even managed to bury him. I've seen stupid men, so timid and afraid of battle that they hang in the back like a child holding his mama's skirt, and get killed because they get separated from the rest of the men. They are last to be buried, if they get buried it all, but just as dead. I've seen the generals who order up one lunkheaded idea after another, each of which gets dozens or hundreds of my fellow soldiers killed; of which the worst part is that one of those killed might be **me**. I've even occasionally seen Prinny, our Prince Regent – Dumb as a box of rocks.

You may wonder _why_ I am holding forth on this particular subject; aside from they hope that I might change my occupation; and possibly the laudanum in my tea. You see I am currently a part of what is called the "culling of the herd." Any rancher or games-keeper will tell you that you must periodically weed out the sick and the weak to allow your herd to flourish. That's exactly the role predators play in the wild. Human societies have the same problem. When any society finds itself overrun with stupid people, they're hard to get rid of. They are like rats, and infest every part of your society, and no amount of effort will get you down to the last one.

To combat this problem, we have a moderately efficient system known as "war". The principle is very simple, in fact the same principle used to kill large numbers of rats. You gather as many stupid people as you can into one group, and try to kill them. Now just like rats, people like to group together along with others that look similar, so it's ideal if you can shove all of the stupid people into very similar clothing and habits of speech and dress. It helps if you give it a fancy name, so let's go with words like "uniform" and "esprit de corps" and "orders" and "patriotism." It helps if they think they're doing something good and noble, so words like "honor" and "valor" are all in vogue.

Once you have all of your stupids together, you go find somebody who is not really done anything wrong to you, but has their own army of stupids, and you decide to attack them. You can make up the reason such as resources, or trade routes, or they have the wrong gods, or they are the wrong color or talk funny; but really those are just window dressing. In the end, it always boils down to two groups of people trying desperately to cull their herds. They do that they need to kill off some of the stupid people, and the most efficient way to do that is for the two groups of stupid people to fight each other, and see how many they can take out. Open battles are efficient ways to cull, but just gathering them into a siege usually works just as well, what with Cholera, Dysentery and Starvation working in your favor.

There's actually a little bit of genius in it when you get right down to it. The whole system works quite well for society, except for one small insignificant problem. The system works exceedingly well for weeding out _stupid people_ , but unfortunately it also has a weeding effect on _unlucky people_. You might argue that removing unlucky people from society is a benefit as well, but I'm never quite so certain.

As you can see I get rather voluble when I take just a touch of laudanum, much like my cousin Anne, and I take just a touch of laudanum when I am exposed to excessive stupidity; but I will come to that in a moment.

My second‑to‑last true lesson in stupidity came right before Christmas in the year twelve. I had spent the last fortnight of November in the _glorious company of the Bennet sisters_ , who are everything lovely. Wonderful girls, one and all. A credit to any man smart enough and lucky enough to attract one. Pick one at random and happiness for life is guaranteed.

For any attribute you care to name, you could find it at one time or another, the perfect example amongst the Bennet sisters. Unfortunately I had no time at all to talk to Elizabeth, as she was attacked by the cretin of a husband the very first time I met her. Darcy assured me that not only was she _not stupid_ , but she was _scary smart_. This coming from a man who is not intimidated by anything when it comes to brains, so if she scared him, I am quite afraid to cross verbal swords of their myself – although I would take the worst beating in the world, if I could just have the privilege of having her pound me into the ground with her sharp wit. However, she remained in bed with an intense fever when I was called back to duty.

Amongst the other girls, you could find nearly any attribute you are looking for in a woman. Looking for a beautiful singing voice: Lydia will make you clap, and Catherine will make you weep. Pianoforte your passion? Mary could present in a London theater without embarrassment. Stick Mary with any of the other three girls, and you have a concert fit for a king. Looking for demure, serene, calm, welcoming countenance; look no farther than Jane. Looking for Attila the Hun or Genghis Khan carrying a giant scimitar intent on lopping off the heads of anyone who happens to annoy her: well, that's Jane as well; or Lydia. When in an angry mood, the two seem nearly indistinguishable. And of course if you're looking for the usual sorts of things: great beauty, pleasing company, good manners, reasonable accomplishments, you could pick any Bennet girl you wanted, get her to the altar, and if on that particular day one of the other sisters decided to switch places, you would still be perfectly content.

Now all of this dross works its way around to my whole thesis, which will earn me fame, fortune and riches beyond imagination as people crowd into my lectures at Cambridge. After more than a decade in the Army, I thought I knew everything there possibly was to know about stupidity. During that winter in 1812, I learned one more thing. I learned, without a doubt, that I could absolutely, positively identify the two stupidest men in England. They were of course my cousin Darcy, and his lunkhead friend Bingley.

Now I have to give my evidence which will be so obvious you will believe I fabricated it, so perhaps I will need to say it twice. For six weeks in the year 11, these two lunkheads were in company with the Bennet sisters, **and they left**. That is right – **they left** , unmarried, unbetroth, just **gone**. Worse yet, they left in a very ungentlemanly manner, and then did not pay the slightest attention to them for a full year. Yes I can tell you, I am now well acquainted with the two stupidest men in England. They are my coup d'etat.

Back at the parsonage, I can tell you that one of these chowderheads has improved on his previous status considerably. Now he has upgraded his condition to _thoroughly besotted lunkhead_. Still a lunkhead, but a substantial improvement over his previous status. Unfortunately, he got to the status too late to stop a murderous rampage in Elizabeth's dining parlor, so now he gets the moniker of _dispirited nearly suicidal besotted lunkhead_. His father must be proud.

You may wonder why I have all of these lovely ladies on a given name basis, and perhaps the odd thought has occurred to you that I should be courting one of them; or possibly all of them. I will have to explain it in detail, because it is the most peculiar situation.

My lunkhead cousin insisted we show up at a particular time in a particular place in the last place in the world we generally wished to travel. By us, I mean myself and my cousin Georgiana. We found a happy jovial man, sort of a doppelgänger for Darcy, but as far as I could tell simply Darcy in a different mood. We got ourselves cleaned up, went to the parsonage for supper with our Aunt Catherine de Bourgh and our cousin Anne, and got to know the Bennet sisters. Now I know you think I've been tipping the laudanum too much, but yes, those were the facts: _Parsonage, Darcy, Lady Catherine, Anne de Bourgh._

The first thing I noticed is that not a single one of the sisters could really be fooled by my jovial manner of conversation. That was nothing new… Anne was never fooled either, but they would call me on my flowery phrases. A complement that was not well thought out and accurate would be deflected with a single raised eyebrow, as if challenging my ability to construct a complete English sentence that wasn't half balderdash. A statement of fact that made no sense would be jumped on like the last peach on the last tree of the year. I was later told the eyebrow maneuver was originally developed by Elizabeth, and the rest of the sisters adopted it.

A little bit of dinner conversation, and we found that we were apparently part of the culling operation in Kent, because we were attacked by a raving madman – another form of stupid, and we had two of our party who are definitely _not stupid_ injured badly. That meant those two were unlucky, which is a typical part of a culling operation, but not very pleasant up close and personal.

Now comes the odd part of the operation. After the attack, I ended up putting my hands on Lydia, primarily to keep her from bashing in the head of the miserable cretin who had attacked her sister. Note that I did not disapprove of said bashing of head, and probably would have engaged in the activity myself, were it not for Darcy saying we needed him alive. Perhaps he had a quota of stupidity that had to be maintained, or more likely there was some type of inheritance riding on this worthless sod. That was really the primary driver of our ever increasing level of stupidity in society – inheritance. Yes I've said it, inheritance makes for stupidity. Inheritance leads inevitably to war. It's a tangled web, but easy enough to follow. I can offer my eldest brother as a fine example.

Once I had disarmed Lydia, and taken care of cleaning and bandaging Anne's horrid wound; I had a delightful fortnight sleeping in Rosings, and spending my days with the Bennet sisters. It would have felt an awful lot like courting, except for one small, tiny almost insignificant detail; well, aside from them all being beside themselves with worry over their sister. Almost within minutes of meeting the Bennet sisters, they became _my sisters_. I really have no idea how it happened, and they will in fact be my real cousins sooner or later if Darcy has a say in the matter, but I became a protective older brother without ever coming anywhere close to becoming a suitor.

Now I do not repine this turn of events at all. I love all the girls dearly as sisters, much like Anne and Georgiana; and each of them has an attribute that would make them very worthy of becoming mistress of my – well actually my horse is pretty much my entire fortune, so it hard to attract a wife anyway. But back to my main point!

Living with Lydia would be much like joining the Navy, and setting up my hammock in the barrel of one of the guns. It would be the safest, calmest place in the ship. It would have the benefit of being out of the water, well taken care of, oiled every day, clean, dry and comfortable – until of course it was fired. That was Lydia; you never knew exactly when the explosion was going to come. Sooner or later one of those explosions would be pointed at me, and I am not sure I would survive it.

Catherine on the other hand was the exact opposite. She would be like putting up your room in a farm full of days old piglets. Nothing but cute little piglets running around all the time. Warm, charming, kind and adorable in every way. None of them would ever do you any harm, or even think a bad thought about you. You would lead a quite charmed and easy-going life with nary a cross word. That was Catherine. A good woman, but the life would be just too easy. She would do for Bingley if he wasn't such a lunkhead.

Mary would be a very good fit for my cousin Darcy. She has an acerbic wit, and quite a bit more intelligence than she professes to. Sometimes I think she takes opinions that are not actually hers, just for her own amusement. I am to understand she wasted several of her formative years reading complete claptrap, but in the last year she has started reading things that will make her worthy among any bluestocking group. She and Darcy would sometimes go toe to toe on Shakespeare or something like that, and I'm quite certain he enjoys that sort of thing; but it is not for me. I am told he is just practicing for when Elizabeth comes back, for in reading, Elizabeth is to Mary as a Calvary horse is to a pony.

Now we come to Jane. Probably the most classically beautiful of the sisters; which is not necessarily a good thing. It means she has to spend her whole life dodging rakes, and any man who attaches himself to her will face the same fate. All of that makes her a little bit jumpy. She has a serene countenance, and thinks the very best of everyone in the world, and is calm and reasonable under all provocations – until she is not. Then she is the combination of a charging bull, and a raging demon from hell, and you do not want to be in front of her. To be honest, she frightens me. There you have it: Colonel, veteran of many campaigns, decorated for bravery, afraid of a woman. You would be too if you had ever seen her delivering a setdown. I once saw her… no, I cannot write it.

There you have it – all perfect – all ideal women – all the sort of women that any man would drool over if he had any sense whatsoever; and now all permanently consigned to sisterhood. I do not repent the loss as I love all my sisters evenly and may enjoy their company in ease and pleasure; but I certainly wondered how it had come about.

And so you can see that I am a man eminently qualified to discuss the relative qualities of stupidity at some length. I can have a course lasting at least a year, with optional lectures on odd Saturdays. If I need to, I can pull out a few examples. I don't imagine Darcy and Bingley will get any smarter over the course of the next year, so I can display Exhibit 1 and Exhibit 2 at my leisure.

Now, perhaps stupidity cannot be the _only_ draw, so I can also add a section on luck. You see, I now found myself back in Kent in the middle of January in the year thirteen, for two reasons. The first was that Darcy had send me an urgent summons, indicating that he and Aunt Catherine had cooked up some hare‑brained scheme, or perhaps it was the other way around, involving me leaving the company of my fellow stupids. That was an idea I could get behind, even if it did have the dubious parentage of Darcy and my aunt.

The other reason was that I had apparently consumed my entire stock of _luck_ , as on the last day before my departure, _I was shot! By one of my own men! On English Soil!_ What a trifecta of bad luck, bad timing and bad thinking. Shot by my own men on my last day among the stupids.

That led me to stopping for a fortifying 'tea' in the tea shop in Hunsford before going to Rosings. It was not that I was _afraid_ of my aunt and my cousins and my sisters… not precisely… I just felt some need for… fortification.

Stepping out of the tea shop, I saw the post coach come in, and the world stopped, just as it does in those romance novels read by… er… by… young girls I mean. The world was stopped by a vision of loveliness that stepped down from the post-coach. No man was there to hand down, so I ran across the intervening space to perform the office. That is to say, I hobbled halfway there with my unfamiliar cane and bad leg, fell flat in the mud, jumped back up (well, maybe not _jumped_ ), and hobbled the rest of the way, only to find she had exited the coach perfectly well on her own without a second thought.

I looked in the coach for her man, and found nothing but a fourteenish looking girl. She had the look of a farm girl wearing unfamiliar clotting, but she would get used to it sooner or later and my level of awkwardness was sufficient for both of us.

Once everyone had exited the coach, and I looked around for someone to meet the ladies, my vision of loveliness, demonstrated that she was made of sterner stuff than the average gentlewoman, and also may not have been best pleased to being accosted.

"Whoever you are looking for Colonel, does not exist. I would consider it a privilege, or at least less of an annoyance, if you were to stop fretting and staring at me, and get about your own business."

By Jove, that was the most singular introduction of my life, and I thought I must be half in love with this woman already. I had yet to say a single word to her, or give her a single complement; and I thought I had better have a real one before I attempted the office, as she would probably rip me from stem to stern much like Jane Bennet. She also recognized the uniform, which I was still wearing because the rest of my clothing was already at Rosings.

"My apologies madam! That was quite rude! Might I make it up to you by offering my services? May I be of some assistance?"

She looked me up and down, and said, "I believe our supply of both rum and laudanum is entirely adequate, sir. We are fine. Good day!"

This was going far worse than I had anticipated, and I found that thought quite distressing. In a panic, I attempted to redeem myself, "My pardon, madam! I realize this may seem overly forward, but might I introduce myself, and once again offer my services. I am more useful than first impressions would indicate."

She looked at me again as if I were one of the aforementioned rats, and she was wondering how to gather me up with the other rats in some place where she was not in attendance for extermination; possibly France. As I watched, a small collection of trunks come off the top of the stage, and I also saw a young boy go by that I knew had a pony cart.

Trying my best to get a little bit better start, I said "Simon, I believe?"

The boy gave me a knuckle, and said, "Yes sir!"

"If I recall correctly, you have a pony cart. Might you be able to deliver those trunks to where these ladies are going?"

"Of course sir!"

The elder of the two was a obviously a gentlewoman around my age of the type that would be considered "plain" by matchmaking mamas trying to knock her out of the husband hunting competition, but I found her enchanting. Jane Bennet had an ethereal beauty that might last until the end of time, or might not. This woman looked like her beauty would stand up to any rigors or trials we might face. Her hair was done up in a very simple traveling bun, that exactly suited. Her bonnet had just the right amount of adornment to be more than plain and less than excessive. Her dress was practical for travel, not overly ostentatious, but neat and trim and clean and er… well, fitting. In fact, it was _very well fitting_ , and truth be told on the tight side; which did not look deliberate. A closer glance, perhaps more than a glance, showed the likely cause, as she either had a very oddly shaped stomach, or she was a few months with child. Interesting!

Her traveling companion, who looked more like a niece traveling with her then a servant, was clearly in brand-new clothing that she was not used to. She kept fidgeting, and pulling here and there to try to get it to stay put. She was young and as frightened by the environment as a rabbit. She was my ticket!

"Simon, you appear to be a man who knows things; is that correct?"

"Yes sir!"

"A man in your profession would certainly know where to find hard candy for two ladies, no?"

Young Simon did not even deign to answer. He simply caught the pennies I tossed to him, and took off at a run for a shop a few hundred yards down the lane. He came back with a small collection of the hard candies, but did not get the reaction I was hoping for.

"I really would prefer you desist, sir. If we want hard candy, we can perfectly well buy our own!"

I had thought this the perfect ploy, especially since I could see the younger girl eyeing the candy hungrily. The look was not missed by the elder, as she said, "Simon, give the coins back to this… er… gentleman, and take this. I thank you for your service."

With that, she took the candies from Simon, handed him a coin, apparently to be delivered back to me, and without sparing me even a glance, she said, "Try these, Becky. I think you will like them."

Since I had not vacated the area, she did finally deign to look at me and said, "Sir, neither your attentions nor your bribery are welcome. Will you please simply desist?"

I knew at that very moment that this was the woman for me. I had no idea why I knew that, but I felt certain. If she had beat me with my walking stick, I probably would have proposed on the spot, but considering my reception thus far; it probably would have been an ill‑considered idea.

She was not responding to the usual level of courtesy, so I either had to become serious, or descend even farther down the scale of flattery to groveling. With a choice like that, it was obvious that groveling was the order of the day.

I took a knee in front of her, which would have looked very fine and romantic, except I forgot about the bullet hole in my leg and the laudanum in my 'tea', and crashed head over heels into the mud, knocking my hat off and accidentally bonking myself in the head with a sharp edge of my walking stick, while my leg throbbed in pain. I can tell you now, from firsthand experience, that groveling, while lying in the mud, bleeding from the side of your head is not ideal. It may have worked on some women, but not this one.

The younger girl of course was putty in my hands, but my angel looked at me momentarily as if trying to decide whether to help me out of the mud, or pick up my walking stick and finish the job. She eventually decided on the former course, and sighing in exasperation, offered me a hand up while Simon helped on the other side and handed me my cane as I tried to get my leg to work right again. The hand was not the weak, dainty, painted and buffed hand you would get from a lady in the first circles. She seemed more like she allowed me to climb to my feet to assuage my pride, but could just as easily have thrown me over her shoulder and tossed me into a chair, or more likely the coach since it was pulling away now.

When I was standing again, I started my next attack. Keep in mind, that I was a _Colonel_ in the _Stupid Brigade_.

"My lady, bribery does not work. Groveling did not work as well as I had hoped. Perhaps a simple introduction and some courtesy might get me out of your brown books?"

She looked at me again, not with the look I was hoping for, and said, "That will not be required, Colonel. I believe our business is concluded."

She was a tough nut to crack, but I was not a full… well, formerly full… Colonel… in the stupid brigade for nothing, so I tried one more frontal assault.

"Please, Madam?"

She looked at me again with a sigh of exasperation. Young Becky was somewhat distracted by the sweets, so the elder lady told her to go over by the trunks for a moment where she would not be able to hear.

She looked at me and said, "Colonel, your forwardness and obstinacy leave me few options save candor. I should tell you that I am generally an amiable person, but there are four things I cannot abide."

I thought this seemed like progress, except for the nasty edge she added to that last part. I nodded, finding my words seemed to be failing me.

She continued in a tone that was as empty as most of my more flowery utterances and said, "Firstly, I cannot abide men who look me up and down as if my appearance is any concern of theirs, and look into my affairs without even the courtesy of an introduction."

I knew not what to say, but thought this was _not_ going to end well.

She continued, "Second, I cannot abide intemperance… people who take to drink or… other pleasures… in the public sphere."

I gulped down what was left of my courage, but could not reply.

She said, "Thirdly, I cannot abide a man who will not take 'no' for an answer, who has been asked to desist on four separate occasions, yet is still present."

By now, I wanted to just crawl in a hole with Darcy and die. How had I bungled this introduction so spectacularly… particularly when I could not quite put my hands on what I had done that was so very wrong? I was going to run to my sisters the second this lady left me, and walk them through the whole thing. Maybe Jane would take my head off but explain where I went wrong, while Kitty told me it was all right and everything would work out in the end. Anne… well, best not to tell Anne.

The lady looked like she was just about finished and was turning to leave, so I screwed up my courage and said, "My apologies, madam. I believe myself guilty of all three."

She just nodded and waved to her young charge to join her, and I thought I may as well get the rest of the bad news. Maybe Elizabeth would wake up and save me from myself.

"My pardon, you said there were four?"

She looked back and said simply, "I cannot abide military men", walked over to her trunks; and took out her reticule to engage Simon. At least one of us would end the day better than he started.

The young lady said, "Are we to go now, Miss Lucas?"

So, a Miss with a baby bump! No wonder she was hostile. I would have to plan my campaign carefully, since I had already lost the first battle decisively. I might later wonder why I had started the campaign within five minutes of meeting her; and why I was planning to pursue a woman already with child who was quite close to needing a parchment to keep track of all the things she disliked about me; but it _just seemed right_ , and I had found in battle, _just seemed right_ was frequently the difference between alive and dead. Perhaps I could take careful notes from Bingley, and do the exact opposite of all of his actions… well, come to think of it, I was doing as poorly as him.

My angel, for nothing short of her taking my sword and chopping my head off would convince me she was anything else said, "Yes, Becky. I do not think it is far."

Young Simon was putting their trunks up on his cart, and I looked carefully at the lady again. I had no idea how I would talk to her again, nor how I could gain her favor, but I was determined. How I managed to get to that stage with a woman I had met only a quarter hour ago was beyond me, but I imagine stranger things have happened. I understood Darcy started out almost this badly with Elizabeth and look how that… wait, that was _not_ the example I wanted.

And so, it seemed that I was about to join Bingley and Darcy in the Stupid Club. It remained to be seen which particular flavor of stupidity I was afflicted with and whether or not it would kill me.


	26. Half-Mile

I turned away from the man with a shudder. Something about him just rubbed me the wrong way. I know… I know… I know… Lizzy and Jane would chide me about tarring the entire army that was off fighting and dying to protect us with the same brush, but I just _could not_. _Something_ about the man hit me wrong, in addition to all the things I had said to dissuade him. The mere fact that I had to bludgeon him with a setdown bad enough that even Lizzy would have been appalled was bad enough. I could not recall once in my life treating someone so badly; and yet wishing I could have done even worse… well, actually there _was_ one time I wished I could have done worse; but nothing I imagined would have measured up to what Colonel Miller did anyway, so perhaps that one worked out for the best.

I was thinking furiously as I walked toward Becky, because I _do not_ like it when I act irrationally, or for reasons I don't understand. Lizzy took an outright public insult from Mr. Darcy yet remained cordial to him for six weeks; but I could not even take polite conversation for five minutes. Perhaps my aversion to soldiers in general was much more pronounced than I thought, or perhaps my manners were just gone forever.

There was something about the man that reminded me of something foul. It was a visceral, almost instinctive reaction. It was something to do with the way he walked; when he could be bothered to do so; or something about the way he talked, when I was not chastising him. He reminded me of something, and not just with his words, since I had allowed him less than a couple dozen; which I assumed was a nearly crippling deficit for a man like him. I suspected he usually said that many in his opening sentence. It was _something_ in his manner, beyond the usual unpleasantness of a military man.

Young Simon had at least been a good idea as he had our trunks ready to go as soon as we got to his cart, and **_then it hit me_**! I actually stopped walking, swayed a bit dizzily, and gasped loudly enough that Simon said, "Are you all right, ma'am? May I help you in any way?"

It was all so clear. It was all so obvious. His walk, his dress, his manner of speaking, even particular words he used were now pointing directly at a conclusion that explained everything. I was not happy, but at least satisfied to understand my reaction, although less sanguine that he was still standing a dozen paces from me.

 _This man had a much more than passing connection to George Wickham._ I would bet my fortune on it. Whether he was brother, cousin or just of similar disposition I hoped to never know, but I was now certain that was what had set my hackles on end; and had me ready to scratch his eyes out from the moment he appeared. That blinding rage had apparently prevented me from seeing the severity of injury to his leg, which made me think he appeared more tap-hackled than he actually was. How long had he been injured?

I had to think hard for a moment before I came to the embarrassing conclusion that he had _not actually done anything quite so reprehensible_ , aside from his forwardness and inability to take direction. However, the idea of apologizing or frankly talking to him ever again made me shudder. He was hobbling off down the street, so I put him out of my mind… yesterday's problem.

With my mind cleared somewhat, I asked young Simon, "Do you know where the parsonage is? I am told it is not far."

That all seemed simple enough, but I heard the man I thought I was done with gasp, much like I had, and he once again nearly toppled in the mud as he turned around too abruptly for his injured leg.

Much to my displeasure, he spoke again, "I beg your pardon Madam, and _please_ do not think me interfering in your private affairs… again, but I could not help overhearing. Did you say the parsonage?"

I had another setdown for the ages on the tip of my tongue, but then remembered my remorse for my actions a few minutes prior, and calmed myself… barely. I would _not_ scream at him… yet. I simply replied, "Yes", because any more words were too much for me.

I looked at him, and he seemed to have sobered up a bit. I had no earthly idea what kind of connection a man like this colonel could possibly have with the parsonage. Perhaps he was related to Elizabeth's patron that her cousin had blathered on about endlessly.

He said quite possibly the last thing I expected, "Are you looking for Elizabeth? She's not there. She is now at Rosings with her sisters, and she is… unwell."

 _Now_ _he had my complete and undivided attention_. I stared at him and asked, "How do you know this?"

He nodded his head, and looked almost… defeated; although I know not why. I was certainly not the first woman to give him a setdown, and was very unlikely to be the last.

He glanced at me with a look of something like… pain, and said, "She was… badly injured, and has been abed since the fourth of December. I am told her fever has abated, and we are just waiting and hoping for her recovery. There is quite a long story to tell, but it's not my place to tell it. I must leave that to either Jane or my cousin Darcy."

Now he went from truly terrifyingly annoying to frightening immediately. Did this mean he was in company with Jane and her sisters? If that were the case, and Lizzy was indisposed; it seemed my scheme had failed before it even started. It was a good thing I still had Scotland as an alternative, as I could not abide being in this man's company very much longer, and I doubted very much that an unwed yet increasing woman would be welcomed in Rosings even once; should I be inclined to go, which I was not.

He had walked a few paces closer so our business was not being shouted to the whole village. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and just spit out the first incongruity I could, "Elizabeth? Jane?"

Having arrived a pace or two away, he was wise enough to come no closer.

He said, "I apologize. That must seem terribly forward and unexpected, but we are all on a given name basis. It started with Darcy when he noticed Elizabeth did not like her new surname, and she invited him to simply use her given name. Once that was done, all six sisters simply adopted the same convention; and gave me leave to follow it as well."

The man made less and less sense as he went along, and he now had his hat in his hands, although I was uncertain it would ever fit back on his head if he did not quit wringing it.

I finally said, "Six sisters, you say!"

He looked even more nervous, and said, "My apologies, madam. We started so badly that I am quite nervous now. You must be from Hertfordshire, and I presume if you are friends with Elizabeth, you knew my cousin Darcy last winter?"

I gave him a very cold, "I did."

He said, "Did you share Elizabeth's bad opinion of him?"

This conversation was becoming more confusing by the moment, but I answered candidly; although I have no idea why, "She could barely stand the sight of him. I did not think quite so badly of him… until he and his friend Bingley abandoned Jane without a word, and his other friend…."

I stopped abruptly. I was _not_ going to bring Wickham up at this point.

He nodded, and said the oddest thing.

"I was amusing myself before you came planning a symposium on stupidity. Darcy and Bingley were to be my prime exhibits, although I'm not certain if I should be third on the list or first."

That actually brought a chuckle to my mouth before I even realized it, but I was serious again in an instant.

I asked, "So, Jane is there… but what do you mean six sisters."

He just shook himself a bit and said, "I'm afraid I keep confusing matters. Of course, all of Elizabeth's sisters are here: Jane, Marry, Kitty and Lydia. I believe they are much altered since you saw them last. Darcy quite treats them like sisters, and they afford me the same privilege. Then my cousin Georgiana… Georgiana _Darcy_ and my other cousin Anne de Bourgh have latched onto them in the same way. Everyone is very agreeable about the whole affair."

It sounded like I had misdirected myself to Bedlam. I asked, "And why are they not at the parsonage?"

He just chuckled, and said, "They were at the parsonage, but they recently moved to the estate. You seem to be made of stern stuff, so you might argue my aunt against it, but you will have to have more fortitude than Darcy or I. Aunt Catherine wants the lot at Rosings, so at Rosings they are. She considerers them quite under her protection."

Stranger and stranger.

The colonel looked, what was it… nervous? To be honest, he looked like a schoolboy either preparing to ask for his first dance, or staring at his father waiting for a thrashing.

At length, he said, "May I… that is… do I presume too much… that is…"

Now he was getting on my nerves, so I just said, "Out with it Colonel. I will not bite your head off… again."

He said somewhat sheepishly, "I know we started badly, but I would like to be of service. If you will agree, it would be my privilege to escort you to Rosings. I can engage a maid from the inn for propriety's sake. If that is not to your liking, would you consider waiting at the inn for perhaps an hour, and I will go fetch Jane or Lydia, or even Darcy if you like, to come for you. I am at your disposal, and it is no trouble as I am returning to my sisters even now. Any friend of the Bennets will be welcomed with open arms, and your charge as well."

I had to admit, much as I hated to do so, that the offer was very gentlemanly; though I could still not abide riding in a coach with him.

He noticed my indecision, and said, "It is but a mile. Would you be satisfied if I rode on top with the coachman or on the pony cart with young Simon while you and your young charge take the coach? It's Darcy's coach, so you are not importuning me in the least, and my offer to go fetch Jane or Lydia, or all the sisters for that matter still stands."

I looked at my own boots for a few moments, while he awaited my decision patiently, although I could see his leg would be bothering him. I finally thought I might broach my last objection, although my own inclinations were to win regardless.

"Colonel, I saw the way you looked at me, and yes you are correct in your surmise. I am with child but without husband. I shall not be attending Rosings, today or ever. However, I would appreciate it if you could send Jane or one of the other Bennets to tell me the story before I leave."

Now he looked alarmed, although I knew not why, and said, _"Leave! No!"_

I had no idea why that idea distressed him, and I said, "Yes, I was on my way to relatives in Scotland, but hoped that Lizzy could help me with… certain matters. If I cannot see Lizzy, Becky and I will be on our way, but I would like to get the full story from Jane before we leave."

Now his hat had not the slightest chance of ever fitting his head again, because he was even more nervous and said, "Miss Lucas… I apologize; we have not actually been introduced."

I realized if we had been talking for a half‑hour while Becky had been standing open mouthed, so I remembered my civility. I even managed to curtsey without grimacing; barely; and said, "Miss Charlotte Lucas. Miss Betsy Clymer. Please do not bow, Colonel. I have not the strength to pick you up again."

He looked like he found amusement in that, but wisely desisted from laughing or smiling, and said, "Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Your servant, ma'am!"

I knew the name from father's endless prattling about the gentry, and asked, "Second son, I see."

He looked surprised by that, and I said, "Earl of Matlock. I know more about the gentry than I care to Colonel. Your brother has a… reputation, but I only know your name. My father obsesses about that sort of thing."

He surprised me by saying, "Old habits die hard, Miss Lucas, but perhaps we could… that is… could you call me Mister instead of Colonel, and I promise you this uniform will be burned and never seen again before the sun goes down. I know I started badly, but I would ever so much like to earn your friendship."

That was a surprisingly gentlemanly offer, and perhaps I relented a bit; as long as I kept my eyes off his red coat, so I said, "Very well, _Mister_ Fitzwilliam."

I blew out a deep breath and said, "If your offer still stands, Col… Mr. Fitzwilliam, Becky and I will take a room in the inn, and wait for Jane. We cannot leave before morning anyway."

Looking more nervous than the occasion warranted, the man said something quite strange, "Do you know what I fear more than battle with the French, Miss Lucas?"

That seemed an odd question, but I decided to just play along to get this conversation over with. I was distressed by the whole impossible situation, and just wanted to lay down to sleep, and then get on with my life.

"I have no idea Col…. Er."

He said, "There are four things I fear more than battle", and then started ticking them off on his fingers.

He said, "Jane Bennet in a murderous rage. Lydia Bennet in a murderous rage. Kitty Bennet looking at me in sympathy over my ineptitude and patting me on the back like an errant and particularly stupid child. Mary Bennet explaining to me in detail what a lunkhead I am and precisely how many ways I have failed her."

Surprisingly, that recitation brought a bit of a laugh, complete with perhaps the beginning of a smile. Oh, he had the charm all right… just like Wickham. That thought put my mood back to the black side.

He continued, "If I cannot play on your sympathy for me, think of my poor cousin Anne. She is bedridden at the moment and will miss your acquaintance if you leave now. Please say you will stay!"

I still had not the slightest desire to accost Lady Catherine in her own home. I had quite enough censure from people who thought themselves better than me because I was in a bad way, and Mr. Collins had made her sound like a real dragon lady, and my father's obsession mostly confirmed it.

I said, "I appreciate her plight Mr. Fitzwilliam, but I cannot and will not go to Rosings. Not today! Not ever!"

He looked at me carefully, and said, "Do not say I failed to warn you, my lady. Desperate measures are called for, and I shall employ them.

I was somewhat amused and asked, "Which measures?"

He said, "You can easily stand up to me, being a mere man. I can see you are made of stern stuff, and I admire that. However, I doubt that you will survive the combined might of Jane Bennet and Lady Catherine de Bourgh, so I shall do as you ask. Let me arrange you a room, then I will go fetch them."

I replied, "I can arrange my own room, if you please."

He said, "Please Miss Lucas! I will be in enough brown books for offending you as it is. Please, allow me this one small indulgence."

I wondered if everyone in this county was as implacably stubborn as he was, but finally acquiesced. It was not as if I had unlimited funds.

"Very well Col… Mr. Fitzwilliam. Becky and I shall await Jane at the inn. _Only Jane, please!_ Not Mr. Darcy. Not your aunt. Only Jane, and we shall not trouble you after today."


	27. Conference

Going from penniless and disparaged outcasts of an almost entirely female family (at least the non-book room portions) to what amounted to six sisters and two brothers ensconced in one of the principle estates in England practically an inch from the peerage, happened with breathtaking speed, like some kind of fairytale, and I must confess two things.

The first is that I have not the slightest idea how it happened. It was still _less than two months_ since we left Longbourn under a black cloud, and now we had a routine that made it seem as if we were born and bred in Rosings. Fitzwilliam Darcy, my mostly brother now, well known as a fastidious man, had dispensed with proper forms of address altogether _within less than two days_ of meeting us again. Lizzy understandably disdained the name 'Collins' and he was astute enough to pick up on it, so she was to be Elizabeth. You cannot mix 'Elizabeth' and 'Miss Bennet' in the same sentence without sounding silly, plus Jane had some kind of intense discussion with him on the first day, probably about Bingley, and wham‑o, now we have Elizabeth, Jane and Miss B… You can see how awkward that gets, plus I believe Fitzwilliam mentioned a conversation he overheard with our father which made him not very enamored with the name 'Bennet', so within a day we were all on a given name basis. By two days, we were the same way with Georgiana and Anne. Not one to be outdone, Aunt Catherine rounded out the informality to the point where we may as well all be farmers or tradesmen… or more likely family. Fitzwilliam would pull Lizzy back to health if he had to go to Inferno and make a deal with the devil, and nothing he did would surprise me now.

The second thought is that I would quite happily give it all up, return to the dubious company of my father, sit in my mother's parlor and listen to her lamentations day and night, practically camp with Mrs. Phillips and Lady Lucas and listen to gossip all day every day, un‑learn all the beneficial lessons of the past year, and go back to insipidly following Lydia around; just to get Lizzy back.

Aunt Catherine picked the best room in the family wing for Lizzy. Actually, as it happened Anne had the best room and had her maids move her while her mother was away bludgeoning Fitzwilliam into submission. Anne then prepared to dig in her heels no matter how much her mother argued, but Aunt, just looked at the change, smiled and said, "Good."

Everyone in Rosings was on given name basis, just because Lizzy allowed it for Fitzwilliam, and we all followed suit like a bunch of little ducklings... or maybe sheep; ducklings are Lydia's analogy.

Our other new cousin-brother-friend-confidant apparently decided we were not matrimonial prospects within minutes; probably while he was lifting a spitting mad Lydia off the floor trying to keep her from killing Mr. Collins. I have no idea how that happened so fast, but maybe it had something to do with wanting to insure _he_ was never on the receiving end, but there was more to it. He never had a sister, and seemed to attach himself to us like a piglet, and all were satisfied with the arrangement.

We had all become quite close, so when Richard came in with an _actual thundercloud_ following his head, we all knew something serious had happened between his last letter and now. Looking more carefully, it seemed like it was recent… very recent, as within the hour.

He practically ran by me, saying, "We have an emergency. Please gather your sisters…", he paused a moment in thought, and said, "… perhaps only the Bennet sisters at the moment, and Fitzwilliam in the parlor. I will be right back."

With that, he ran up the stairs two at a time… well, that part is just me having some diversion. What I mean to say is he only forgot about his bad leg and fell back down cussing like a sailor once, and then hobbled up as quickly as he could.

He was back in less than fifteen minutes, dressed in his gentleman's clothing, although looking like he had a blind and crippled valet. He was carrying his regimentals in his arms. His agitation was so severe brother Darcy was ready to accost him over it; but then Richard stopped a footman and gave him the strangest instructions.

"My good man, if you would be so kind as to burn this uniform… **now**! Also, if you would not mind, instruct the rest of the staff to burn any other uniforms that happen to appear in my luggage."

All right, that was strange.

He saw we were all sitting down, and sat down to join us… and by that, I mean he alternated between sitting and staring at us as he talked, getting up and pacing agitatedly in a fine imitation of our other brother, nearly falling over with his bad leg, and sitting back down to repeat the process.

The story he told was of an unusual encounter with a lady in the middle of Hunsford. The lady was apparently accompanied by only a girl of around fourteen years, and as best we could make sense of his rambling story, she was an angel sent from the very heavens, who thoroughly despised him within minutes, or possibly on sight. It got to the point of where she had a list of things he had done wrong in less than a half hour almost long enough to require quill and parchment to keep track of it.

Brother Darcy, who was usually a bit taciturn, and also had a reputation for sticking his foot in his mouth said, "Richard, you astound me. It took me nearly six weeks for Elizabeth to accumulate ten things she hated about me. It sounds like you did it in six minutes."

My other brother was _not amused._ However, I suspected Fitzwilliam had endured endless teasing in his life, and from the looks of Richard, this might be his last opportunity; as it was obvious he was besotted with this 'angel'. He was beginning to sound like Mr. Bingley.

Naturally, Jane stood up from her chair to go and scold him as he no doubt deserved over his manners, but I took ahold of her shoulder and squeezed it until she looked at me, then I just looked back at her chair until she went back. I was going to have to talk to her about that fiery temper one day.

I just went over to Richard, and gave him a big sisterly hug, and told him that it would all work out in the end. That's what you have sisters for, to smooth your way through life, to ease your burdens with the gentler sex, to calm you down enough to think. Mary naturally came over and rapped him in the forehead three or four times with her knuckles, and said, "Lunkhead."

Now that we had dispensed with hugs and sticks, and he did seem a bit calmer, Mary put on her thinking cap and started asking questions, just as I expected.

"Richard, you say she disliked you almost immediately, yet unless I am very much mistaken, you seem to have taken a shine to her."

He looked thunderous and said, "Do not speak of her in such a flippant manner. I am in love for the first time in my life, and I intend for it to be the last."

We all gasped at the audacity of that, but Darcy said, "Good man!"

I looked at him and said, "How so, Fitzwilliam?"

He said, "Had I done that at the first assembly back in Meryton, things would have turned out very differently. Even had I come to my senses at any time in the first six weeks, things would be better. Richard knows all he needs to know. If this lady will have him, I will approve in advance. Anyone capable of delivering a setdown like Elizabeth is all right by me."

That statement naturally got Mary thinking again, and she said, "What do you mean a setdown like Elizabeth?"

Darcy chuckled, and said, "Richard, please repeat that setdown _word for word_. I know it's burned into your memory complete with every nuance and inflection, is it not?"

He said, "How do you know that?"

Darcy just said, " _Take my word for it._ Now quit woolgathering."

So, Richard told us word for word, and true to Fitzwilliam's surmise, he did a pitch perfect impression, and it _did_ sound an awful lot like Lizzy.

Mary, smart girl that she was, finally asked the painfully obvious question.

 _"Richard, did you ever in this entire debacle actually get her name?"_

We were all smacking our forehead in consternation at our lack of basic investigation techniques, and then gasped in surprise when he answered.

 _"Miss Charlotte Lucas_ and her ward is _Miss Betsy Clymer."_

Mary said, "Nooooo!", while the rest of us just stared at him.

I was so agitated I could hardly get a word in, but finally said, "She is from Meryton and is _very well known to us._ "

Mary was still sitting next to him, and she reached up to rap him on the head again, but decided to give him a hug instead.

She said, "Charlotte is our best friend in the world, and she has wanted marriage and a family forever. She is usually considered 'on the shelf', a dreadful term if there ever was one. She once told me felicity in marriage was entirely a matter of chance, and it was best to know as little of your suitor as possible. Something _dreadful_ must have happened if she is on her way to Scotland, and she will not visit Rosings, or even consider an obviously besotted son of an Earl. If you told her your name, she would know exactly who you are. _What are you leaving out, Richard?"_

He said, "Did I mention that she is a few months with child, and has no husband?"

He may as well have thrown a basket of ants into the room, as pandemonium ensued, with everyone talking, and exclaiming, and hypothesizing over the top of each other all at once.

We were silenced by a surprising voice.

"Richard, why is this poor girl _not_ sitting in my parlor as we speak?"

We all looked up at Aunt Catherine, who had glided into the room unnoticed, and we were all happy for her presence. She was certainly not an intrusion, and she calmed the proceedings immediately.

"She will not come. She expects the usual reaction for a woman in your position Aunt, and she has a _strong_ aversion to my presence. She plans to leave on the morrow for Scotland."

Aunt surprisingly said, "She most certainly will not! What is her demeanor, aside from intelligent enough to avoid you? Think boy!"

Not in the least perturbed by being chastised, he said, "She is jumpy… very very jumpy, at least in my presence… and she…"

He stopped talking abruptly, trying to recall the scene exactly which I thought might be helpful as in his agitation I was nearly certain he had only told half the story, mostly out of order and scrambled.

Finally, he said, "She is strong. Not just physically, but in spirit, but it has been damaged. She practically shuddered every time she glanced at me, which she mostly avoided."

Mary said, "So, the missing natural father is a soldier!"

Richard's head snapped back around to stare at her, but she was thinking furiously. We all gave her a moment to get to it, and she finally said, "Yes, that explains part of it but not all."

I asked, "How so, Mary?" Sometimes she needed a little prompting.

Mary said, "Richard, how much time did you spend at Pemberley growing up?"

This seemed an odd question, but he answered, "A lot. Darcy and I were nearly inseparable."

Mary glanced at the rest of us, and then stared at him, before asking, "You and our other brother have _certain mannerisms_ you share, part of being raised together, do you not agree sisters?"

All of us nodded in agreement. We had not noticed it, but it was so.

Mary said, " _Who else_ might carry a reasonable packet of those same mannerisms? _Someone else_ who spent _considerable time in your company?"_

It hit us all about the same time, but it was Brother Darcy who spit out the name.

"Wickham"

Now we were all agitation again, but Lydia then spoke up unexpectedly.

"Richard! Aunt! We never told you of my shame, but Darcy knows. When I was fifteen, I tried to elope with that scoundrel, and Charlotte is one of the very few people my father could not keep the truth from. He left Meryton with a mountain of debt, nearly ruining several shopkeepers. He may or may not be the man who accosted her, but she certainly has sufficient reason to revile him even without that."

Then she turned her attention on Richard and said, "Is it possible that you standing in a red uniform with your Derbyshire speech, and your Derbyshire manners would remind someone quite painfully of a man best killed or forgotten?"

Richard got to add bruised knuckles to his list of injuries, since he smacked the wall with his fist in agitation, saying only, "He is a dead man", which I took as confirmation of Mary's thesis.

I was all business after that. Mary was the brains of our little duo, but I knew what had to be done.

"Jane, I know she asked for you; but you can see that it would be senseless to send the two most mercurially tempered Bennets, including one with alarmingly obvious connections to that scoundrel. It must be Mary and I. Do not fret. We will deliver our friend here, in good working order before supper. If she turns out to be just too stubborn and implacable, we will place her with Mrs. Hewes and the Sergeant and stay with for a few days."

Jane looked ready to argue, until Fitzwilliam said, "I agree! Aunt, would you care to go with us to extend the welcome. You and I will stay in the coach or the inn while Kitty and Mary calm Miss Lucas down. We all agree she belongs here!"

Aunt Catherine just nodded, and we all wondered about her change in demeanor from what had been widely reported; but fortunately, none of us really cared what she was like the previous month.

Fitzwilliam stared at Richard, and said, "Before we do this, I must ask. _What are your intentions Richard?"_ He said it with dead seriousness, as if he already considered Charlotte under his protection, which was most likely true. He seemed to be collecting wards at an alarming rate.

Richard did not blink, "Marriage, family. Even if Wickham is the natural father, that child shall be mine, if she will have me."

Darcy said, "If she accepts you, it shall be _her choice_. She will be forced into nothing, neither by encouragement nor prosperity or circumstances. You will woo her properly, and walk away if it does not work. Are we agreed?"

For a man who had made such a hash of his own courtship he was remarkably implacable, but Richard agreed immediately.

Not quite finished, Fitzwilliam said, "Make yourself scarce when she comes back. You may start your campaign tomorrow, but not tonight."

Richard saw the sense in that and agreed immediately.

Within five minutes, Fitzwilliam was helping Aunt, Mary and I into our wraps; a habit he picked up in the parsonage he seemed reluctant to let go. I imagine it reminded him of those brief days when Lizzy did not hate him, and I think it might possibly help rekindle some hope in his breast.

For myself, I could not wait to get to Charlotte. This was something I was born to do.


	28. Waiting

Lydia says I should write this down exactly as I remember it, and anyone who knows Lydia can tell you it's better to be in her good graces than bad, so write it I shall, though it is likely to take all day at the least. Mary says that my recollections may not exactly coincide with how it really happened. That is the thing about talking to Mary. I had to look up at least six of the words in those sentences alone in the dictionary… or ask Mary. Asking Mary usually got me an entire lecture on words and more questions than answers, so I usually just pretended I understood her and used the dictionary when she left. I do not think I fool her, but she goes along… but heaven help me if I pretend to know a word and I cannot write it correctly a week later.

I will ask your leave to not even attempt to write it exactly as I remember it. I could neither read nor write then, and did not talk very well either. I would be ashamed to write it just the way it happened, so I hope you will be kind with the small lie, to save me the embarrassment. I didn't even know that word at the time… that is how bad it would be if I wrote it exactly as is.

I was standing by the little pony cart with the boy the soldier liked to call 'young Simon', even though he was older than I was by a year or so when Charlotte had her run‑in. I knew she did not like the man. That much was obvious, but he was a persistent sort. I thought maybe that stubbornness might be useful when he was crawling through mud and smoke for the chance to kill someone, but it seemed it would always a good idea to remember that killing business goes both ways. I was not entirely certain Charlotte was going to put up with him very much longer.

They argued for a time, and I really did not pay that much attention to what they were saying. After a time I finished all the hard candy Simon brought, and then we somehow came to an agreement to talk to the Bennet sisters. I never really knew any of them before. I did not really know Charlotte before either. Miss Lucas of course visited her father's tenants, and I remember her giving me a piece of candy once when I was perhaps ten, but Papa's farm was not a very good one. With six brothers, I doubted even my mother knew who I was sometimes.

The soldier somehow convinced Charlotte to let him arrange a room. I still thought she did not want to, but eventually found it easier to agree… or maybe she was running short on coin. As for me, I did not, and still do not, hold any particular grudge against soldiers. The one that hurt me was terrible, but once I saw what the whip did to him, I thought I need not think of them ever again. It was not the first time I had been hurt and would not be the last. Charlotte told me the terrible things that _could have happened_ to me, just like it did to her; but it had not and I was going to spend no more time thinking about it.

We went into a room that was very nice, probably nicer than we could really afford and Charlotte just sat down on a sofa and looked lost. I knew not what to do, but I had an idea. I was a skinny scrawny little thing, barely any bigger than a girl, what with having to fight with my brothers for every scrap of food. My father considered me an extra mouth to feed and of no use. My mother mostly ignored me. I did not know what to do, but I had an idea.

Charlotte was just sitting on the sofa staring at a wall, so I went over, climbed up on her lap, where I fit easily, and just reached around her waist, put my head on her shoulder and hung on for dear life. A moment later, she put her arms around me and her head on my shoulder and we just sat there crying for some time. My mother had never once held me like that as near as I could remember, but I thought Charlotte would certainly take better care of that babe she was carrying; regardless of where he came from. No, Charlotte Lucas would not hold something like that over a child.

Charlotte had explained to me how babies worked, so I thought I understood. We were to live in a cottage somewhere, and we would do some sort of work. Maybe I was to be a maid. Charlotte would have a baby, and we would take care of it. That was all there was to it. I neither knew nor cared what the details of that life would be. It could even be a farm and I would be content, so long as I was with Charlotte.

We sat like that for some time. I could see the shadows move across the room, so it must have been hours, but back then I had no real notion of time other than thinking of the chores I had to do around the farm, or when I would have to have my next battle with my brothers for something to eat.

When we had both done all the carrying on we planned to do, we went over to a pitcher a nice maid had set out when we took the room. I reckoned the soldier must have a lot of money, as the maid treated him like a prince, with curtsies and yes sirs until she made my head spin. I imagined a man like that probably dropped more money accidentally on the floor than my Papa made, so the maid was just being clever, and I had no grudge with her. I might be a maid just like her soon enough, so I thought learning some of the trade might be useful.

Charlotte and I used a towel to clean our faces, and I tried reaching down for my apron to dry my hands, only to find for maybe the dozenth time that I had no apron, and was not a child to be wiping my hands on my dress again. Charlotte unpinned my hair and put it back up. I think there was nothing wrong with it, but she just wanted something to do. I was not really old enough to have my hair up, but she had said that if I was old enough to leave home with her, I was old enough for my hair up. Charlotte was like that, always saying things that made no sense, but I just did what she said. Anyone who got me off of that farm could ask nearly anything of me, and when we got to the place we were going, I imagined nobody would know me at all and it could go right back down when I got a dress with a proper apron.

Sometime later we heard a scratch on the door, and Charlotte called, "Enter".

Two very elegant looking ladies that I now call Mary and Kitty came into the room. I tried to be on my best manners as Charlotte had been trying to teach me, but neither of the Bennet sisters seemed very inclined to proper introductions. Mary flew across the room and grabbed Charlotte in a big hug, and Kitty came over and did the same to me, even though I am quite certain she had never seen me in my life. I was confused, but that seemed to be the way with these Bennet girls. Maybe that was how good friends always greeted each other in the gentry, but it did not matter because Kitty was very warm and nice and easy. In a moment's time she had managed to actually make the introductions, and it was confusing but comforting.

After that flurry of introductions, we all sat down on two sofas and Mary began. I have since learned that Mary is not… what is the word… subtle.

She said, "Charlotte and Betsy, we cannot even begin to tell you how happy we are to see you, though distressed by how you came to be here. You will not be leaving today or tomorrow or perhaps ever again. You must come with us. We will take care of you, and you will be welcome."

Mary also had what I now think of as excessive forwardness, as she reached over and placed her hand directly on Charlotte's stomach, and said, "You are _all_ welcome."

Charlotte started to say something, and Kitty stopped her.

"What Mary means to say is, we have much to tell you but the most important thing is you are among friends."

Charlotte said, "Perhaps _your_ friends, but not _mine_."

She had that stubborn look I knew so well that did not bode well for argument, but Mary took both of her hands and said, "Charlotte, trust me. I only ask that of you. Nothing more. We have so much to tell you. Come with us for _one day_. One day cannot hurt your plans. If you will not come to Rosings, let me place you with some dear friends, or stay here at the inn. Just tell me you will not leave. I know you wanted Lizzy to help you with something. Let us do it in her stead."

By now, I think Charlotte was just exhausted by the ordeal. She had spent much of the previous month with her head over a bucket, and she exhausted easily. That had been how we spent this very morning, starting before daylight. Today had been a trying day, and she seemed like she was in some kind of battle.

Still stubborn as always, she said, "I wish to have the story, and I would like to see Lizzy. You say she is abed? How did that happen?"

The two sisters looked at each other as if judging what to say, and Kitty left her sofa to kneel on the floor beside Charlotte, and said, "Her husband… Mr. Collins… he… he… you see… I cannot… not now."

She just ran out of words, and looked ready to start crying, but did not.

Mary said, "It is a _hard story_ Charlotte, _much like yours_. Will you not share your burden with us? Will you not allow us to help you? Fitzwilliam will do anything for Lizzy. He basically adopted all of us, warts and all. Please let him help you. Please?"

Charlotte looked confused and said, "I may not have been completely fair to the Colonel, but I… I… I cannot bring myself to be in his company. I just cannot. Do not ask it of me."

Mary looked somewhat alarmed and said, "Oh, we do not mean _that_ Fitzwilliam, although I believe you will warm to him… eventually. He is a chowderhead, but a good man. No, I mean Fitzwilliam Darcy!"

Charlotte once again stared at both girls and said, "That appears… unseemly. Does he not know Elizabeth is already married?"

Kitty said, "Oh, he knows! He chastises himself for it every hour of every day of his life, but please, Charlotte! Do not judge him until you know the entire story. _All of it._ It is… it is… it is if at least as bad as yours. We wish to hear your story as well, if you wish to share it, and will never ask again if you do not."

Charlotte just looked confused and Kitty practically pleaded, "Talk to Fitzwilliam, Charlotte! Or let me tell you the story! Come see Jane and Lydia and Lizzy. Please!"

Charlotte was not quite stubborn enough to resist such pleadings, and I did not see how she could quit the neighborhood without at least seeing her friend, so she finally, after a very long pause while the Bennet sisters sat in anticipation said, "Very well. I shall go tomorrow, but please…"

Mary was not to be denied so easily said, "Please Charlotte, your room is already made up. It has a bed for Betsy as well. You can see Lizzy tonight, in a half‑hour's time. We shall not force you to endure a supper, but we would all feel better with you down the hall."

Running out of energy for argument, Charlotte said, "This will seem selfish, but if I come for a day…"

The two girls watched her anxiously as she fought for words, and now I realize she was trying to not sound cruel or heartless.

She finally finished, "… will you keep the Colonel away from me."

The girls looked at each other oddly, as if there was much more to that discussion than they were willing to entertain, but of course at the time I did not even notice it, since everything about the encounter was odd.

Mary said, "Of course."

Then I was a bit surprised when Kitty jumped up as if wanting to set the plan in motion before Charlotte changed her mind, apparently unaware that Charlotte rarely changed her mind about much of anything once it was made up.

When the door was open, she simply yelled into the common room, "Brother! Aunt! She has agreed. Please come to be introduced."

A moment later, a tall and I would later guess handsome man entered the room. At the time of course, all I could tell was he was very tall, his hair was very fancy and his boots were very shiny. I had no idea he was rich as a lord, but I imagined his clothes alone must have cost at least a pound.

He bowed to Charlotte and said, "Miss Lucas, well met. I am very happy to see you again, thought I wish it were under less trying circumstances. Please accept my gratitude that you will visit us, and know that you are most welcome at Rosings or Pemberley any time."

Then he turned to a very elegant looking lady much older than my mother… perhaps as old as Lady Lucas and said, "Aunt Catherine, may I present you to Elizabeth's good friend Miss Charlotte Lucas. Miss Lucas, my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

Charlotte looked at her suspiciously, but she did a curtsy just as she had been trying, without very much success I might add, to teach me.

The tall gentleman surprisingly turned to me, and said, "Miss Lucas, may I have the pleasure of an introduction to your friend?"

Charlotte introduced me to them just as if I were a lady worthy of an introduction to such as them, and I had no idea what to do so I just made my best reply and looked at my feet.

The older lady walked in front of me, very forwardly put her knuckle under my chin and made me look up at her, and said, "Have no fear child. You are most welcome."

For some reason, and I will never really know why, I trusted her just like I did Charlotte with just those few words. I have since learned that lots of people say lots of words they do not mean, but until this day, I have never heard Lady Catherine do so. Sometimes what she says may seem unkind, or difficult, or vexing or… well, other kinds of unpleasant, but she _never_ says anything she does not mean.

The tall man, who I assumed was the mysterious adopted brother said, "Miss Lucas. Miss Clymer. Let us go. The other sisters are most anxious for your return.", and then he with an odd look at the older lady, he offered his arm to Charlotte, while the lady said, "Perhaps, you might escort me, Miss Clymer."

I wondered how our trunks would get to this place we were going to, but Charlotte did not seem concerned, so I was not either.

I wondered just how big this Rosings was that everyone kept talking about. I imagined it might just be very grand; perhaps bigger than Lucas Lodge!

Now I sit in a schoolroom larger than my father's farmhouse, with my hair thankfully down, and with a thankfully less fancy dress, and hope that Mary will only make me rewrite this two or three times before I go for my pianoforte lesson. I will never be any good, and frankly, neither will Charlotte; but she finds it restful to give me the lessons and it is my favorite part of the day.

I once asked Aunt Catherine, "Why me? Why am I here instead of the maid from the inn, or another farmer's daughter or one of the girls in the village?"

She just said, "Not all can be welcomed, child. It is just the way of the world. Life is a matter of circles and connections, and nobody knows why one person is in a particular sphere and another is not. The Bennet sisters are in mine because… well, I have my own reasons, but mostly because my nephew loves them. Miss Lucas is in our circle because she is friends with the Bennets, and you are here because you are friends with her. Nobody knows why the dice roll like that, but you are here now, so make the most of it."

Sometimes, she makes more sense than anybody.


	29. Winter

_A/N: So remember that thing I said about 30 chapters… turns out I was wrong. Odds of completion in two more chapters are pretty much zero, especially with me being in an introspective mood. I am absolutely loving all the reviews and PMs, so keep them coming (my ego thanks you most profusely). I'll give a special prize of some kind for reviewer #500… maybe either a spoiler or a solemn promise to not give a spoiler. You decide._

 _I'm really astounded by this story. I started publishing 11 days ago with about 40k words, and it's been a bit of a wild ride to this point with some of the chapters being cripplingly painful to write, and some of them almost writing themselves. The last one was so easy Betsy could have written it._

 _The story is about 85k now, making it my second longest to date._

 _Let's see where it goes. Wade_

* * *

I missed Fitzwilliam dreadfully, and he had only been gone a day. He wasn't even to Pemberley yet while I sat in my old room, watching Elizabeth sleep; or whatever it was she was doing. I even missed my other cousin Richard who had been dragged out of the house kicking and screaming to help Darcy with another crisis at Pemberley. Well, that was only about half right. The pale shadow of my cousin Darcy had dragged him out kicking and screaming and limping and cussing, but apparently Richard had left the army and was now to be some kind of land owner. That of course made no sense to me at all, but apparently Darcy was both determined to teach him what he knew, and prevent Richard from repeating his own mistakes with his lady love. Charlotte could still only barely stand being in the same house, let alone the same room. All the Bennet sisters clearly knew what was happening with him, but they had not shared it with me… apparently thinking I could not figure it out for myself… silly sisters.

My life had changed almost beyond recognition in the couple of months between the first time I ever thought I managed to make myself look pretty, and the day I was sitting there just wishing Elizabeth would wake up; as if my wishes piled on everyone else in Rosing's wishes would tip the scales in her favor. She was now Elizabeth or Lizzy to everyone, even those like me, who had never even had a proper conversation with her, and Betsy who had never even met her. Elizabeth had somehow rearranged all of our lives, without even knowing it. Some might look at our current situation and reckon that we all circled around Fitzwilliam like children around a Maypole, but it was really Elizabeth that was at the center of it all.

Fitzwilliam, my grim and taciturn cousin of the past twenty-odd years had turned into a thoughtful and loving cousin overnight somehow by Lizzy's magic, only to have it all snatched away a few hours later by a madman. How he managed to resist either killing the man or allowing Lydia or Richard to do so was beyond me, but in the end, I suppose it is one more thing to admire him for. Whatever Lizzy thinks, I had to believe if she actually wanted Mr. Collins dead, he would be dead already.

It was the worst winter in many decades I am told, and Pemberley was beset with a crisis requiring the master's efforts; much as it had the previous summer. In this case, he tried to explain it to me… something about a partially frozen stream backing up, then an ice dam breaking, and causing flooding and destruction among his tenants, but thankfully no deaths. It had even done considerable damage to Pemberley itself. He did his best to explain it in more detail, but since I dozed off a few minutes into it and woke up just as he finished, it may be possible I missed something important. It did not matter… he would be back and explain it again, but it sounded like it might be months… unless of course Lizzy woke up, in which case it would be as fast as a string of horses every 10 miles can carry a man.

I personally thought a proper crisis was just what Fitzwilliam needed, since he had spent the previous two months doing his best to kill himself sitting part of the time by my bed and the rest by Lizzy's, regardless of the fact that he had a half‑dozen sisters anxious to do the same. Mother finally threatened to stage two footmen at his bedroom door if he did not relent and sleep at least from dusk to dawn at least one night. He looked so desolate I thought Richard had the much better bargain, what with only being shot by one of his own men. Yes, he needed something _he could do_ besides staring helplessly at someone he could not help.

In the couple of months my cousin was trying his best to insure that Lizzy woke up eventually to find his skeleton sitting beside her bed staring at her; I had turned from a pale, sickly and cross creature that was probably despised by everyone who came in contact me; into some kind of hero, all because I had acted when the time came to act. I was certainly not the woman I might eventually be, but I was a woman who could hold my head up in the world and consider myself worthy… at least, I would be once I could get across the hall from my room to Lizzy's without making two of my Bennet sisters practically carry me. Perhaps, I just missed Fitzwilliam because he did it so elegantly and all by himself.

The price for my status as a woman worthy of respect had been high, although I do not believe it was as dear for me as it was for Fitzwilliam. I spent three or four weeks in a long extended negotiation with the Grim Reaper, and we had apparently come to an understanding that our eventual debt was to be settled at a later date. I awoke on the fifth week to Fitzwilliam sitting in the chair beside my bed watching me; not at all certain that the god had not gotten the better of the deal. He would collect his due sooner or later, and in the meantime, his brother Lupe, God of Pain, Grief and Distress could have his own amusement. Fitzwilliam on the other hand was having his own negotiations with Amechania, goddess of helplessness… and I can assure you, nothing about being helpless suited Fitzwilliam Darcy in the least. I hope you will forgive the excessive mythological references. Mary is convinced Lizzy can hear us, so we have all been taking turns reading to her; and Fitzwilliam and Mary both insist that is her sort of entertainment. I cannot read without my eyes going cross, so I tell her stories of Fitzwilliam and Mother when we are alone.

Darcy seemed to both lose a bit of himself every day, and perhaps gain something as well. By the time mother went to the parsonage to either talk some sense into him, or more likely bludgeon him into submission; I believe he had already decided what must be done but was so addled from lack of sleep he just could not function properly. Mother had come back victorious, with Lizzy, a large collection of new sisters for Georgiana and I, and an exhausted nephew. He still had enough energy to carry me across the hall before supper, and sit holding my hand while we stared at Lizzy in consternation. It was there, sitting beside the woman that was obviously the only one he would ever truly love, that we had the very first proper conversation of our entire lives.

"Anne, I cannot even begin to express to you how proud I am of you. You have made me proud to be your cousin, and I hope you will allow me the privilege of being proud to be called your friend. I would beg to also be called your protector, but that seems backwards considering the history."

I just smiled at him. Nobody had ever really taken me seriously before, nor had I seen any of his sense of humor in some time.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam; I will be pleased to call you friend, but even more pleased when this woman wakes up and I can make you my brother."

It took him a minute in his addled state to work out that I was working on the basis of obscure and circular reasoning to claim a relationship that was almost entirely in his own mind. He was to be my sort-of adopted brother, and he just smiled as tears ran down his face.

We sat there in companionable silence, and I asked the awkward question that nobody seemed to be willing to ask.

"Fitzwilliam, how exactly is it that you plan to make her yours. From what I understand, I am not even certain she _likes you_ , and her husband might well live years, while you need an heir very soon, and apparently so does her ancestral estate."

He may have been surprised at the depth of my knowledge of his affairs, but did not gainsay me any of my conclusions, so I continued.

"Collins has surprised us before. Had he killed one of us you would always have the noose as an option; but I cannot believe you will allow his murder regardless of how much he deserves it if we both survive."

He had finished his crying for the moment, but did not bother wiping his eyes, and replied.

"The problem of Collins is not my primary concern. All the Bennets I care about are not going anywhere, regardless of what their father may do, and I only care about Longbourn because Elizabeth cares."

I nodded in agreement, so he jumped to the only real topic he was truly interested in.

"I know not if or when I can win Elizabeth's affection. She did not despise me by the time we had the supper, but she did not precisely _like me_ either. It is most confusing…"

"How so?"

"She quite detested me, with good reason I might add, right up to the time I became privy to her most private affairs through a combination of happenstance and ungentlemanly eavesdropping."

I gasped in surprise. I had not known this, nor did my sisters know it I was certain… nor would they… ever.

He continued, "She just wanted to get rid of me as expeditiously as possible. And yet, she somehow decided the best way to drive me from the county was to trust me with her confidences. Perhaps, she just needed someone completely disconnected; but in my dreams, I hope she recognized me for the man that would henceforth always be there for her; whether she ever accepted me or not."

He paused pensively and said, "She quite took me to task. Richard only _thinks_ Charlotte can deliver a setdown. He has not the slightest idea. Nobody… and I mean nobody from parents to peers, has ever done that before. Even your mother berated me more out of form than true chastisement. Elizabeth was not afraid to tell me what was wrong with my character… in some detail, I might add."

I laughed at the image. I could well imagine it… well, actually I could not. It was just too much even for me, but I would take his word for it.

"She cannot complain about your treatment of her sisters. Nobody in the world could complain of that."

He just chuckled, and said, "Do not underestimate her. I fully expect to be thrashed within an inch of my life for officious interference in their lives."

I chuckled about that for a moment, and said, "I imagine you would be quite happy for her to open her mouth and tear your hair out with a setdown, would you not?"

He sat in complete silence for some minutes, before I realized he had simply fallen asleep sitting there beside me. I had no idea if that was just a trick to avoid answering the truly big question of how he would survive, even to himself; but I did not mind in the least. He had been running from me for years; now he was sleeping beside me, and I had to have a small chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. I had begun to try to learn about Elizabeth through her sisters. The old Elizabeth, would have laughed at the absurdity. The damaged but formidable creature Collins had left behind would have locked herself behind an impenetrable wall that nobody could see through… with the apparent exception of my cousin whom she did not even like. I truly thought that if she would just wake up, we could heal her. I also thought that while I knew beyond doubt both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were too kind and honorable creatures to see to Mr. Collins own appointment with the reaper, I quite considered us good friends at this point, and reckoned the reaper might be amenable to persuasion from me. _I am not my cousin._

He woke up a little bit later with an apology on his lips, but never actually got it out. He realized how poorly it might be received. It was then or perhaps when he carried me back to my own bed, and kissed me on the forehead before retiring to his own punishment in his own room and leaving me to the care of his new sisters, that I for the first time truly saw my cousin for what he was. He was not always the fine man who kissed me, but he would never be anything less again.

I can remember the next few days well. On Monday, the first of February, I was sitting with Lizzy and I thought I might have seen some slight movement in her. She had been lying there nearly dead the day Charlotte Lucas came into our lives, and nobody would lay claim to having seen the slightest sign of life beyond the reflexes we had to coax to get some soup down her. I held the sight to myself like a precious gift. I was not about to light the flame of hope and disappointment in my sister's breasts without more of a sign than that, but I would carry it myself.

She had been every bit as injured as myself and more, and like me had nearly succumbed to fever. In addition to the fever, her head had apparently had a blistering swelling puss-bucket of a wound that seemed likely to make her head explode. We would never know if _all of her_ would come back; or if she would be in some way diminished. I was never entirely certain that _all_ of my mind had returned. I was content with the part I had, as the parts of my conscience and memory that were gone were not terribly missed anyway. If my entire life started the moment I pushed Georgiana out of the way, I would be more than content; and if I was not as clever as I might once have been, I was still smarter than my lunkhead cousins.

Not much later, Charlotte came in and began her ministrations. We had been told to try to exercise Elizabeth's limbs to keep them from shrinking away to nothing, and we of course had to force broth and perhaps the occasional bit of soup down her throat. We could all see that the battle with Father Time could not possibly last much longer. She had not been large to start with, and every day she seemed to shrink a bit more, to where now her bones were staring to be alarmingly prominent. At least her head no longer seemed in danger of leaving her body, and we no longer had to contend with the leeches that had been used to clean the mess up; so that was something.

We all had promised to write to Fitzwilliam every single day without fail, so we started that very first day. Betsy could not even write her own name, but Charlotte showed her how it was done, and she did the best she could… while I saw Lydia and Mary eyeing her as they might a new kitten. The poor girl had no idea what she had stepped into, but even those two were probably an improvement over the farm.

Charlotte was a woman much like me. Tested, battered, bruised but resolute and determined to survive and thrive. I liked her very much, not the least because she was calling my cousin the colonel to task. She had only been in his company once since her arrival and had ignored him so studiously I thought he might explode. A few weeks with Darcy should give me time to work on her, but I had my own curiosity.

"Charlotte, do you mind if I talk to you while you do your work?"

I was anxious to do my part, but was still too weak to be of much use for anything more strenuous than watching her; and my own state was so precarious I doubted any particular five minutes went by without my mother or one of the sisters happening by the door to glance in. Jane and Mary had been reading my father's medical texts, and talking to anyone who would talk to her about recovery for both myself and Lizzy. Their combined wisdom had apparently come to the conclusion that the remedy was torture. She made me get up and try to walk, while she and Mary drug me up and down the corridors. She told me as soon as I managed to walk to the door of my own room, she would relent… _lying_ , silly sisters.

"Of course, Anne"

I was treading very carefully, hoping that my invalid state must offer me _some_ protection.

"Charlotte, you carry a heavy burden. Might you share it with someone? You have known the Bennets all your life so they could carry the office if you need someone familiar. You have known me for less than a fortnight, so I might do if you need someone… less… less… just, less. You know how we all feel about you, and I would do anything to lessen your burden, but I will not pry."

She, apparently unsatisfied with the completeness of my assertion added, "yet?"

I grinned, and agreed, "yet"

She looked at me carefully, and said, "My burden was lifted this morning, and I need nothing more at this time."

I grimaced painfully. Richard had a much higher hill to climb than I thought, but at least it was not self‑inflicted like my other cousin.

"Do you truly think my cousin is a bad man?"

She looked alarmed, and said the most surprising thing of the day.

"Of course not! He is probably a very good man. He may even be the best of men… somewhere inside… although he is annoying in the extreme, and…"

She just paused a moment in thought, then rather incongruously said, "I imagine he gave you the list?"

This brought a chuckle to both of us, and I said, "I suspect if I invaded his quarters I would find a framed copy of it on his wall."

She said, "Perhaps I was harsh with him, but I… I… I just cannot."

I thought I had made about as much progress as I was likely to for a day, and since she was right next to me rubbing Lizzy's right arm with some salve that was usually used on milk cows' udders, I pulled her down beside me and continued.

"Someday, dear sister. Not today. Probably not tomorrow or the next day; but one day you will be ready to share this thing you carry, and I will be there to listen."

She just nodded, then went back over to start on Elizabeth's left arm, while I curled up in the sofa, tucked a blanket around my chin and went to sleep.


	30. Redemption

_A/N: Just a few little notes from the reviews. #500 was an anonymous review, so you can't claim the prize. I do try to answer a good subset of the reviews, but with 500, you can see I can't really get to them all. Of course, if you want a real answer, a longer review is more likely to get one. Most of the answers are via PM though, or my author's notes would be longer than the story._

 _Interesting reactions to the last few chapters. A lot of positives (people liking the character development and slowdown of the pace), but a not insignificant number of people missing the action of the first few chapters and feeling like I'm stuck, going in circles, beating side stories to death, etc. I won't say which opinion is right. It's the first time I've had such disparate opinions about one of my stories; although if I find out people either love or hate them, I wouldn't be surprised. Soooo… guess I'll just plow forward._

 _Here are a few things from some of the reviews, but not another entire page like I did back in chapter 12. This is more of a warmup exercise._

 ** _Charlotte's List_** _: The list is in Chapter 25. Search for the word "abide". Anne's use of the list is quite possibly the most obscure movie reference ever to "Ten Things I Hate About You", but I don't expect a single person to make the connection._

 ** _When will Lizzy wake up?_** _Probably 5-10 more chapters, but we're moving away from Rosings for the moment. I have her wakeup scene in my head, but I need to put more ducks in a row first… or is it sheep. Can never remember which sister to emulate._

 ** _Bad Winter – Very Convenient_** _: Yes, it is but it_ _was_ _in fact the worst winters in decades. Darcy was in reality being a bit of a slacker. There was an even worse one about 4 years later that I think I might use in a future story; but the trip to Pemberley makes perfect sense._

 ** _Is Anne really such a badass_** _? I wouldn't put anything past her, but I never know what she's going to do in one of my stories until I've already written it. She almost always surprises me. Collins is only alive at Darcy's convenience though. I have about 3 good endings for him in mind, and a Collins HEA is not in the cards. In my more entertaining musings, I can imagine Anne slipping into Collins' house with an axe, only to find Lydia with a pair of throwing knives, and they go into the next room to find Jane with a pistol and in the hall they find Mary with a sledgehammer and Georgiana with a truncheon, and eventually they all enter the room only to find Kitty already smothered him with a cuddle toy or a teddy bear while the lunkheads sit in the corner smoking pipes and complimenting her on the efficacy and cleanliness of the method. Actually, now that I've spoiled it maybe there's no point in writing any more? I can just expand that scene and we're done, right? Oh wait, forgot the romance. Dang, back to the keyboard._

 ** _What's up with Mr. Bennet?_** _Did he send the papers or just the sisters? Is he even still alive? We shall see, and I'm debating bringing the Gardiners in as well. To be honest, I kind of forgot about Mr. B, but do keep in mind that if he did send a packet with the sisters it could easily have gotten lost in the shuffle. The dinner was the day after they arrived and it was pretty jam packed._

 ** _Any more surprises?_** _Not really, it's pretty much all cleanup now ;)_

 _If you're bored with these characters, maybe you'll like this one. I'm going to try something I've never done before. It's radical. It's unprecedented. You can tell me if I come out carrying my shield or on it._

 _Wade_

* * *

 **Bloody Bollocks, it was cold!** I looked over at the fond memory of a fire and wondered if I could figure out how to get it going again before I froze to death. I glanced over at the fairly disgusting looking remnants of the lamb I had on a tray for dinner in the library and wondered if there was anything salvageable, or if I should bother waking one of the servants up. The candles were guttering down to nearly nothing, so a wise man might just advocate that the better part of wisdom suggested going to bed.

In the end, I wondered idly how long I had been sitting there in thought, but instead of taking out my pocket watch; I returned to the table where I had all the parchments laid out, and tried once again to make some sense of them.

The pages were obviously written in haste and agitation, especially the first. They did not look as bad as my writing, but if Caroline should happen to see them and praise the evenness of the handwriting or the quality of the pen, she would be lying more than usual. Of course, with Caroline nearly everything was a lie, and every conversation was really just a matter of how many and how deep. She lived in her own little world where nobody and nothing was important if it did not help her with her attempts to move herself into the circles where she had not been born, and would never truly be accepted. She used people like tools, and failed to realize that most of her 'friends' did the same thing.

The first parchment sounded a touch mad. Darcy was the best friend I had ever had, but we had grown apart over the past year. Now, with the first parchment I well and truly understood that between the two of us, our combined intelligence would still make the stupidest man in London… or it would if Darcy was in London. In the letter he refused to give all of the particulars, but he was apparently in Kent, with the Bennet sisters… all of the Bennet sisters. The story he gave me, which I surmised was only a tiny portion of the real story made me want to get on my horse and go there immediately to throw myself at Jane Bennet's feet and beg for redemption. Unfortunately, the rest of the story convinced me I would be taking my life in my own hands with that approach. Apparently Jane Bennet was… not so serene anymore.

The rest of the first letter is where he descended into madness. Darcy had a plan… a devious and difficult plan, which he admitted was as likely to get me killed as to succeed, or possibly more so; but it just _might_ be the path to redemption. He outlined the barest suggestion of a way forward toward the accomplishment of his goal, but then spent a full page telling me why I should _not_ accede to the plan, and it would be much more sensible to forget the whole thing.

I was barely pondering and absorbing that the next morning, when another letter arrived. It was shorter, better written, and much clearer. Apparently, a few hours sleep did wonders for him. It told me in no uncertain terms to burn the latter half of the first letter and please forget that I had ever seen it. He admitted that if the letter contained a touch of madness, it was really only a fraction of what he was experiencing; but would not elaborate further.

The third letter, on the fourth day, implored me to both burn the first letter and then notify him by express that I had done so. He truly thought he might not bear it if I got myself killed over some hare-brained scheme, which now seemed the most likely outcome.

The fifth letter was mostly a repetition of the fourth. To prevent a sixth, since the man seemed to be sounding more and more desperate, I wrote back express with my sincerest thanks for the information he had given me; my fondest assurances that I held nothing against him in the debacle of last winter since it had been done in the service of a friend, and my absolute iron-clad assurances that I had burned all the appropriate letters.

That had been some hours ago… well, come to think of it, I did not really need my watch or the clock as I could see dawn coming through the window. I had not been lying to Darcy, as I had never done so in the past and never intended to do so in the future. I did fully intend to burn the offending letters… I just had to think about it just a bit more.

At long last, I rang for a servant since they were clearly up and about by now, asked for some assistance with the fire and some breakfast; and then did exactly as my friend, mentor and most trusted advisor told me to. I burned the letters. I burned every last one of them… except for the first of course, and then sat down with my own pen and did my best to create something legible.

* * *

"Caroline, I have some important business that will keep me occupied for at least a month, and probably two. You will need to go stay with your sister."

"Charles, what can you possibly be thinking? Lord Winchester's ball is in a fortnight, and there are three more in the next week after that. You cannot go! I forbid it! We shall stay here and enjoy the rest of the season. I insist. I am certain now that things have settled down in Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy will be back, and we must call on him. We have hardly seen him at all year, and I have not seen dear Georgiana at all!"

I looked at her wondering what had made me fail to see her machinations in every aspect of my life since we were children. In the end, Darcy's revelations were not a surprise, but more likely a confirmation. She really was the most self-centered woman I had ever met, and she truly cared for nothing that did not advance her own agenda.

"Mr. Darcy is _not_ coming to town, and I truly believe you should start setting your sites on another. There is even less chance of you achieving your ambitions now than ever, and there was no chance to start with. Start looking elsewhere, Caroline. You will never, ever, be Mrs. Darcy."

She just huffed as she always did when she thought I was being ridiculous, but perhaps there was a touch of something new in her expression, as I had never been so blunt before, but she rallied quickly.

"Oh Charles, you are so tiresome. I have not pursued him these five years and bent myself to be the perfect mistress to him for nothing. No, he shall see my virtues this time, but he cannot do it if we do not call on him."

"Take my word for it Caroline! I have it on the very best authority that he will not be to town at all this season, and even if he were, we would not be calling on him."

"Charles, how can you say such a thing? If you truly need to go about some dreadful business, well go to it but I shall stay here. I shall invite Louisa and Gilbert to stay here."

I wondered if her stubbornness were a gift or a curse for her. I now thoroughly understood which they were for me.

"I am afraid that will not be possible Caroline. You cannot stay here, so either go to your sisters, or go to Scarborough, or perhaps since you are quite on the shelf now; I shall just set you up in your own establishment."

It was probably mean-spirited to say such a thing, whether true or not (it was), but after Darcy told me the whole story of how spectacularly I had failed Jane Bennet because I listened to the two of them, I was in no mood to quibble. At least Darcy's intentions had been good.

"Charles, how can you say such a horrid thing!"

She actually started to cry, big tears, and a less astute man may well have been fooled by them, and a weaker man might relent and let her have her way one more time; just as he had been doing all his life. A kinder man might have held his tongue, but I was tired of being all of those things.

All my life had thus far been driven by the fact that most of the good things in life except for an acceptable sister had been handed to me. I did not have to earn my fortune, and in fact, the chief goal of my father's life was to insure that his children and grandchildren did _not_ have to earn anything. It suddenly struck me as quite a terrible idea, yet I had gone along without thinking very much about anything all along. Everything from going to Cambridge to leasing an estate had been done in the service of my father's ambition, without ever giving very much consideration to whether they were _my_ ambitions or not; and to tell the truth, I did not think I had ever before today _had_ any ambitions. I certainly had lacked resolution the one time in my life when it might have been the making of a man. I doubted Jane Bennet would have put up with me for a month as I was, let alone the rest of my life.

My sister on the other hand truly believed the world owed her everything that a member of the Royal Family might have been born with. She was determined to pretend we were better than we were, as if wishing would make it so.

I finally brought my thoughts to the matter at hand.

"Caroline, listen to me! Listen very carefully! You will never marry Fitzwilliam Darcy. I do not care how much you try to flatter yourself, he will never offer for you under any conditions. Even if you managed to compromise yourself with him, he would throw you out on your head and he would ruin the rest of the family along with you. He is an excessively a polite man and has put up with you these years in service to _our_ friendship, but he is quite finished with all that. You have wasted the last five years reaching for the impossible, and leaving the possible routes to happiness by the wayside, destroyed by your greed. You will stop! You will stop now!"

I was quite happy with myself for finally having put my foot down as the head of this family, finally grown into my manhood, finally ready to tackle the implacable bear that my sister had become.

"Charles, you are so tiresome! I shall not listen to this another minute. Be a good boy and call for my maid. I shall rest, and then invite Louisa over for tea and luncheon."

She started to leave and I watched her stick he nose in the air as if she were better than everyone in the room; myself included, or more likely, myself especially.

"Caroline!"

"Yes, Charles."

I could tell she was not really listening, so I stood up from the table, walked in front of her and said, "Caroline, this is important. You must listen."

"Do not be so tiresome, Charles. I shall discuss this with you rationally after luncheon when you come back to your senses."

I wondered just what it would take to get her attention, and when I finally ran out of patience, I used the only approach I had ever found that worked. I am ashamed to admit it, but I reached over and slapped her on the cheek."

She screamed at me as if I had thrown her in the fireplace, but I could see it was all just an act and waited her out patiently.

When she finally shut her mouth for just a moment, I told her how things were to be.

"Caroline, I have dispatched the instructions to my solicitor an hour past. The townhouse will be sold within the week, at whatever price I can get. At the end of that week, you may go to our sister's house, or you may take me up on my earlier offer for your own establishment, or you may go back to Scarborough, but make your decision before luncheon, as I will be gone before nightfall, and shall not be back for some time. The choice will be made for you if you refuse to see the world for what it is.

She stopped screaming, and looked at me appraisingly, wondering which approach to use next. There was a time when I would have waited and tried to keep peace in the family, but it was far too late for that.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had set me a task. He tried to rescind it immediately, but that was like trying to unlight a fire or unring a bell. There was just the slimmest chance that I could maybe for the first time in my life earn the respect of the one person who needed and longed for it the most… myself. Perhaps once I had managed that, I could work on someone else.


	31. Rogue

"You alright, Walton?"

"Been better, Stockton."

"Shall I help you to your feet, or do you prefer the frozen mud for the moment. You do not look as comfortable as you might like."

"Agreed, this position is not in any way ideal."

The man who now went by the name Walton was looking up from the mud, sporting what was likely to be good size egg on his head, and a fair number of bruises that would be invisible beneath his coat, but readily apparent to those who know how to look for such things. He managed to struggle to his knees, and I helped him to his feet. We were not to be seen keeping company too often, but as he was my ticket to a better life, I thought the idea of keeping him alive seemed eminently sensible. Damn, this charade was making me talk like one of them, or more likely, what I would be if we managed to pull this off.

My employer, in reality, Mr. Bingley and not Mr. Walton had made his enquiries carefully, but he already knew of my 'habits' before he approached me that day a month prior. I was not in the least happy to learn he knew of my origins, and the fact that I had not _entirely_ left them behind when I managed to become his coachman. The elevation from sometimes thief, sometimes gambler, and sometimes other things that need not be detailed here; to a respectable coachman for a rich tradesman had been made as most of my elevations in life, through stealth, guile and lies. The man was newly elevated to his position, fatherless and protected by arguably the stupidest elder sister I had ever had the displeasure to meet, and another elder sister who followed her like a mongrel dog. The husband attached to the other sister would not have survived five minutes where I came from… but, come to think of it, none of them would.

When Mr. Bingley came asking me to return whence I came, I thought my scheme had come tumbling down, and wondered what other rich chucklehead I could work on. I enjoyed being a coachman, particularly as it gave me at least even odds of surviving to my thirtieth birthday; something that my old life sadly lacked.

Bingley, as I was now instructed to call him when in 'polite company', wanted me to guide him through a manhunt, which would most likely pass through all of the worst rookeries in London. The scheme was mad… absolutely barking mad, and not all that likely to succeed either, but he was determined. He was trying to find a _specific_ man, who was going by another name, who truly _did not_ want to be found, and was very good at hiding. The man had a visit to debtor's prison or a nice jaunt to France with the army waiting for him should he ever be discovered, and was understandably disinclined towards making either appointment. For all we knew, he might even have a noose all set up somewhere or other, and that is nothing to the debts waiting to be collected by those who could make him long for the fields of France. We had to flush him out, and we had to do it soon. Bingley had no idea how to do it, but thought I just might.

The prize he offered in exchange was not only the life of a coachman, but the life of a _gentleman_. Not a rich and idle gentleman such as himself, but enough money placed in the four percents to keep me in a style that might allow me to take a wife, raise a few children and my grandchildren might even be fully respectable one day if we managed to keep our noses clean. It was a prize hard to pass up, even if the chances of one or both of us ending up dead were not to be dismissed lightly.

You may wonder at how a man such as myself has the words to describe this endeavor using words like 'endeavor' which rarely pass through the lips of a coachman or a thief. Therein lies a story for another day, but suffice it to say that my time in the rookeries taught me more than one skill that was necessary for survival; and the most urgent of those was the ability to appear to be what you needed to be at the moment. Words are weapons, and I had armed myself better than my contemporaries, having a mother that was much smarter than most. Her tumble from the gentry to the whorehouse had been abrupt, but she was a tough old bird and had managed to remember a few lessons.

Bingley thought it would take a month to teach me the words, the dress and the mannerisms; but in the end all he had to do was buy me a bunch of expensive clothes. The mannerisms came along with them, and we set to our task mere days after he sold the townhouse.

I had to admit that once he elevated me to the status of a 'gentleman friend', I thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment of the sale of his townhouse, which was part and parcel of his plan, as it was necessary for it to be widely generally thought that he was on a downward slide. I was there to watch the ensuing chaos, and had to work hard not to laugh.

"Charles, you cannot possibly sell the townhouse and all my decorations. I have worked years to make it a perfect place!"

"And why should I not sell them Caroline? I paid for them, or is there something here I am unaware of that came from your portion?"

We both knew how ridiculous that notion was. His sister had been decorating and redecorating the townhouse for years. I of course had never been inside with myself being just a coachman, but Miss Bingley provided nearly all of our entertainment prior to that. The best part was watching her fawn over that Darcy fellow, and there were bets launched both above and below stairs in more than one great house about how long it would be before she attempted a compromise, and whether or not she would succeed. My own money was riding on sometime this year, and the man tossing her out on her ear; as I thought Darcy was made of sterner stuff than most of my compatriots did. Most of the servants had never learned to recognize the look of a man who was amiable enough, but had a backbone of steel when it was called for.

"What has gotten into you Charles? I shall not stand for this. Not for one more minute! You must desist immediately!"

"I agree Caroline! Most emphatically! You must leave my disagreeable presence right now. In fact, I have already taken the liberty of having your trunks packed, and the coach is sitting outside to take you to Scarborough. Goodbye Caroline."

With the sale of the house, Bingley had in fact deliberately sold all of his sister's decorations and the new mistress of the house looked as if she had been invited to live in the palace, while his sister looked like he had grabbed her heart with his fist and ripped it out through her throat. The screaming fit that ensued with her dismissal to distant relatives was a masterpiece of theatre to behold, and I knew that it would be worth years of entertainment below stairs. I found it entirely amusing that even though she had personally screamed at me over some imagined failure of duty more than a dozen times, and tried to dismiss me twice; she had no idea I was her coachman once I was in my new clothes. I thought perhaps Bingley was testing me to see how well I could act when the heat was on, but it would take more heat than Caroline Bingley to bring me to any grief.

With the house gone without a second thought, Bingley began execution of the next part of the plan, once my money was safely placed with his solicitor where I could get at it after our little adventure, or it could be delivered to my kin if things went badly, and we were off.

Bingley was a master of the drawing rooms and parlors of the gentry, and he was widely considered an 'amiable man', which most of us considered the same as a chucklehead… but, I can tell you this. When he set his mind to it, the man could spread balderdash with the best of them. Talking for a half hour without coming within a league of the truth was no harder for him than discussing the previous winter's hunt, or the quality of his new shooting rifle. He even described in quite some detail yet another rifle that I knew did not exist, just because he could.

"Say, Bingley I heard that you sold your townhouse."

"Yes, cursed nuisance these townhouses. You know I have been planning to buy an estate, and now seems a good time."

"Jolly good show. Where exactly is this estate?"

"Well, you see, I have my eye on several and am just greasing the skids so to speak."

On and on it went like that. He never overplayed his hand. He never said things that were not to his purpose, and he never got caught out. I was introduced as a gentleman of some standing from a vague and ambiguous direction… somewhere that had odd manners and odd ways of speaking, but not an accent so heavy you could not make sense of it. Passing me off as a Scotsman or Irishman seemed like it might be amusing, but much too difficult. Best to keep your lies simple, and as close to the truth as you can. Manchester was mentioned, as well as a few places in Derbyshire or even occasionally Cornwall, as well as other counties I had never heard of that I suspect Bingley had just heard in some other wild stories.

By the end of a fortnight, the circles he traveled in started hearing about the sale of his home, and a hint there, a sour look there, and he was next considered to be on the slide to ruin. I had a bit of a chuckle to think about how this was to affect his sister, but he seemed to have put her out of his mind entirely. She was now so unimportant to him that he gave not the slightest thought to her, which I thought would pain her much more than if he had deliberately decided to ruin her. It served her right. She should have married when she had the chance. Oh, she was not destitute. Her dowry was still far more than I, my children and my grandchildren would ever amass; but she would have to learn to live with the idea of being what she actually was, rather than what she dreamed she was.

"Did you hear about Bingley? I heard it in the greatest confidence so keep it to yourself. Had to sell his townhouse you see. Big debts. Mistress on the side. Man will be destitute."

"Hardly surprising for a man with roots so close to trade. Should never have let him in."

With the story in the upper circles in place, we started our hunt for our query in the ah… shall we say, lower circles. As with any hunt, the hounds had to make a lot of noise and circle around mostly aimlessly trying to cover the area before they could get the scent, and that is where we started.

We started in Rat's Castle with a series of card games. The secret to this type of hunt is that you have to be able to move in the circles the hounds must search, and to do that you have to fit in. For the gentry, that had to mean you were either well off and in it for the sport; which usually ended with your throat cut, or you were on your way down and desperate to make a soft landing or claw your way back up. We chose the latter story.

Walton let it be known that he was a man with some money, or enough to cover his wagers, but that he was somewhat in desperate need to win more often than to lose. He also occasionally let it slip that his name may not be precisely 'Walton', so that he could leave enough scent of blood to bring out the predators. That was the dangerous part of this game. We both knew that there was not the slightest chance we could actually find our prey. He know this area better than even I did, he was a man who had spent as much of his life lying as I had, and seemed at least as good at it from the stories I heard. Besides that, he was a man who _did not_ want to be found. Bingley's idea of sending 100 men with piles of money to find him was laughable. No, we had to insure that the man _would find us!_

Of course, nobody ever learns to cook without getting burned, and Bingley had overplayed one hand, which earned him a good beating but not a knifing. It could have been worse, and St. Giles was quite likely to be, once we got there in a few days or weeks.

He replied surprisingly calmly, "Not that good of a show there, old chap; but I know not whether it helped our cause or hurt it."

I thought about it a moment, and then said, "We need to show weakness. I suspect it helped, but you may want to find a better way to appear weak."

I saw him thinking about that for a moment, then he shrugged his shoulders, grimaced at the pain and said, "I have an idea for that."

I helped him to his feet, and dragged him off to the less than reputable boarding house where we had our lodgings. It was all part of the act, but he certainly was not acting. He would look the part of a man who had been given an education via fists tomorrow, and the story would get about. The beating would serve its purpose.

On the morrow, we would begin our campaign in yet another gambling den, with yet another bunch of disreputable men and the women that hung about with them. More stories would be spun, more balderdash, more blood on the water, more confusion about whether the two of us were confederates or enemies.

Our man would hear about us sooner or later, and we had laced _just enough_ truth into Walton's balderdash to make us a tempting target… or at least, that was our design. We did not appear to have ready cash, but we tried to make it seem as if we had ready information for the type of man that was just enterprising enough to understand it. The specific names and facts that were let loose into the wind would mean nothing to anybody in the slums except our quarry, but we hoped he would smell the profit and come running for his share.

In the meantime, we would continue to water our gin, lose steadily but not remarkably, move from place to place like ghosts on the wind, and hope our little friend picked up our scent. As I said, it was just like a hunt, except the fox and the hounds would have to trade places from time to time. I only hoped that when it finally came time for the hunter to pull the trigger, I was not taking the role of the fox.


	32. Frozen

**Bloody Bollocks, it was cold!** I looked over at Darcy and wondered how he as doing. For my part, my leg hurt abominably, but I had no notion that it had been fatal. The bullet was clean, through and through so there was no inconvenient need to go digging about with a scalpel, or more likely the army's favorite tool for injured limbs; the saw. I had been given a dose of laudanum, a liberal dose of gin; part in my mouth and part on the open would, and stitched up. It would heal, but I would never walk as well as I once had.

We were now on our sixth day of travel since leaving Kent, and did not expect to arrive at Pemberley until late afternoon at best. I was riding on the widest plow-horse every bred to the best of my knowledge. The carriage had become untenable on the icy roads two days before, so we exchanged it for two enormous but placid horses, with winter shoes to combat the snow and ice. Darcy and I were both connoisseurs of horseflesh, but in conditions like this, a skittish horse with ordinary shoes would be as certain to cause death as returning to the army to let them take another shot at me.

I was tired, sore, cold and bored to death so teasing Darcy seemed the only remedy. We were walking at a pace that mostly any grandmother could beat walking on a normal day.

"Darcy, explain to me again why I am here in this plow beast suffering when every delightful female we know is sitting in Rosings, and this is _your_ estate, not mine."

Darcy just grunted and said, "It will build character."

I snorted in return, and said, "I have always believed the time to build character is when there are no further options."

He slowed the monster he was riding to come beside me and said, "All right, there are two reasons you are here."

Now I had done it. Darcy usually only had two modes of speech. One was so taciturn it took an a snifter of brandy for every dozen words, and the other was interminable lectures. Apparently, it was to be the lecture today.

"Do you really expect me to agree to the lecture you are working your way up to?"

He actually grinned at that, so I thought maybe Elizabeth was a more powerful tonic than you might have thought, because the expression was quite unexpected.

He continued without pausing and said, "You _chose_ to be a landowner Richard, so you _are_ out of options. If you are unhappy with the responsibility, you are welcome to go back to letting your own men shoot you; or perhaps even give the French a crack at it. But if you intend to be a landowner, on an estate provided by _me_ , you will learn to do it properly."

I did not even dignify that with an answer. I had been resisting learning to manage the estates I would never have all my life, and had to admit to myself, although certainly not to Darcy, that what he said made sense.

I grunted in acquiescence and replied somewhat charitably I thought, "I will give you that one Darcy. So what is this mysterious second reason?"

His face resumed an expression that was either pensive, or taciturn, or more likely just shivering cold, as bloo… well, I already canvassed that.

He said, "I will give you one valuable lesson in life for free, Richard, so pay close attention. There is _nothing_ in the world worse than seeing someone you love beyond life itself suffer at your own hand, whether through ignorance, pride, careless actions or simple neglect. Nothing else even comes close. If you had continued hovering around Miss Lucas like a vulture waiting for something to die, you might have lost her forever by now. Take my word for it, I have done it myself, and it is not at all certain I will ever truly recover even when Elizabeth wakes up."

My head snapped up at that, and I very nearly lost my tempter. Of course, very nearly losing my temper involved my whole body tensing up, and that made my leg hurt abominably, so I had to take a moment to relax, before answering.

"I fully understand the depth of the hole _you_ dug for yourself Darcy, but do not pretend if Elizabeth were awake that you would not be wooing her right now, regardless of her marital state or what is happening at Pemberley."

That put a look I could not quite follow on his face, and he said, "Elizabeth and I had quite the discussion about _duty_ the night before that dinner. If I were wooing her instead of taking care of my duty to my estate and the people who depend on me, she would be chasing me out of Rosings with an axe. Do not mistake my _desire_ to spend every waking moment with her; with what I would _actually_ be doing. By wooing her, I would lose her. We both need to understand the difference between what we _wish_ to do and what we _need_ to do."

Not one to take an argument lying down, I shot back somewhat angrily, "You have the right words there Darcy, _your_ estate. I have no estate at the moment, so the same does not apply to me; and you have had a _year_ to pursue Elizabeth. It is not my fault you wasted most of it, and you would be wooing her by doing your duty, I am certain of it."

He started looking a bit less patient and said, "Again, I say that you will have no hope of securing the affections of anyone worthy of being courted if you fail to do what is right. You wish to court Miss Lucas, you must do what is right first. All she see is a uniform on a Derbyshire man. Allow her to see something else."

I was losing the whole thread of the conversation, and most of my patience, so shot back, "You can say that because you are in the arena with a good idea of the battle you fight. I have had less than an hour with the target of my affections. _Exactly how do you propose I woo her from 400 miles, when she can barely stand my presence?_ "

He just chuckled and said, "It is no wonder our sisters call us Lunkheads."

I would like to claim that my sisters calling us both lunkheads was new information, but since each of them had at one time or another warned me that _the rest of them_ called us such, it was not news worthy of being published, but I still had no idea what he was trying to say. How could you win if you did not even fight?

Trying to reign in my growing temper, I asked, "I am afraid you will have to be more _specific_ , Darcy. Something beyond general lunkheadedness."

He actually laughed and said, "You and I make a hash of things without a firm hand. That is just the way it is. It is time for us both to trust in our sisters to see to our best interests. They can stare at Elizabeth and wish she could wake up as well as we can. They can care for her body and read to her to try to care for her mind and soul as well as we can. Nothing but our pride insists we are better suited to the task. They also have a _much_ better chance of improving your angel's impression of _you_ than you or I do. Let us do our duty, and when we return, things will be better. Trust in the people that are trustworthy, Richard. That is the very essence of family, and if you wish to have one, you must learn it."

That sounded like some kind of magical thinking, but the truth was I could find no fault with it.

Still not ready to concede the field, I asked, "For someone who has made such a hash of it, you seem quite certain."

He just laughed, and said, "That is how I came to that wisdom. Who do you want to believe about how badly a stove might burn you; a scholar who can explain all the science of fire, or a schoolboy who just touched it?"

I had to at least laugh at that. I could never remember a self-deprecating Darcy, so perhaps there was some wisdom in it.

He continued relentlessly, "Trust your sisters Richard. They have earned it, and they will not let you down."

Darcy had a habit from time to time of saying something that he did not really mean to, as if he had been carrying forth and decided to stop talking and start thinking but forgot to to disengage his mouth. He said, "And in the best case…"

Curious!

"Best case, Darcy?"

He shook himself as if just realizing he had spoken aloud, but seemed amenable to finishing the thought.

"In the best case, Elizabeth will wake up and she will make things better… somehow. She always does."

What a besotted couple of fools we were, but I had to admit that leaving my fate in my sisters' hands seemed more sensible than leaving it in ours. There were no new suitors swooping into Rosings, so she would be there when I got back and I would… well, to tell the truth, I had no idea what I would do. Most likely just do whatever my sisters told me to. At least Darcy had that right.

* * *

About an hour later, we crested the rise where we customarily paused to get a look at Pemberley. I had once heard a friend of my mother's say something that sounded a lot like what Darcy's own angel might say. It was something about never seeing a place where _natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste_. That was Pemberley. The Darcys had been doing that for generations, and it showed.

The sight we saw now showed that nature had its own malevolent side. The trout stream where Darcy and I had played as boys with… well, I could not even finish that thought. At any rate, the stream had overflowed its banks on the rise above the house, and the cascade had obviously run into the house like a torrent. We could see a stream of debris littering the no longer finely manicured lawns on the high side, and again on the low side before rejoining the stream a few hundred yards away. The bridge that I could imagine Elizabeth might have loved to wander over; not that I had even talked to the woman; but Darcy and my sisters had described her well, was long gone. A number of trees were down in the surrounding woods, and one had collapsed close enough that one branch had taken out a window. One of the walls of the orangery was crushed, and several of the fruit trees seemed damaged.

Darcy looked at the carnage critically, then started my lessons.

"You can see it went through most of the principle public rooms. Most of the more valuable paintings are on the first floor, so they should be protected for the moment, but they will have to be dealt with. The statues on the ground floor will be fine, but many of the finer artifacts might be damaged. This stream has never overflowed in living memory, so none of us anticipated it, I am afraid. Most of the furniture is stout wood and will need to be dealt with, but can be recovered, although the upholstery will be ruined. I am certain the rugs will be entirely beyond hope, as well as the wallpaper, but the most pressing concern is getting everything, most especially my tenants, dried out. The damp will do serious damage if left unchecked."

I asked a few questions about the extent of the damage, and he explained how we would need to worry about rot and mold and mildew in tedious detail. The house would be seriously damaged, and the tenants could fall to disease. The damp was our most important and pressing concern.

"It is just like a battle wound, Richard. Leave it to its own devices and soon you will lose the leg. Tackle it straightaway there is some chance of saving it. You know as well as I do that the same wound you are whingeing about now would have cost you your leg at the least, and more likely your life in battle."

Every once in a while, my cousin made some sense.

He just sighed, and said, "Now is when we show our mettle. Now we pay the price for our privileges. Every tenant, every child, every shopkeeper in this area is _my responsibility_. We must see to their needs _first_ , and then we must see to Pemberley."

We turned our horses and carefully picked our way down to the house to begin the task.

* * *

Mrs. Reynolds was waiting for us when we arrived, along with the butler, Thompson and the steward, Foster.

"Well met, Mr. Darcy. Colonel"

Darcy smiled at Mrs. Reynolds in greeting. She had been practically a mother to him when he was younger, and still looked at him with a fond eye.

"Good day, Mrs. Reynolds. How fare things?"

He nodded to the two men as well, but they neither expected nor particularly desired more effusive greetings.

"I shall let Mr. Foster tell you of the tenants cottages. Four were destroyed, and six more damaged. This storm was particularly malevolent as you see. The damage to Pemberley is about as you no doubt surmised from the overlook. Inside, I think you shall find things neither better nor worse than your perusal would suggest."

I always loved Mrs. Reynolds. Sort of a cross between a mother and a sergeant. If boys needed ears boxed she was the one for the job, unless of course you were in Rosings, when Mrs. Hewes was ideal. When things were going well she was the most pleasant woman in the world, but when things were difficult, she was a force of nature.

She continued, "We placed some of the tenants with others for the moment, and filled the inns in Lambton and Kympton with some of the other families, as you would have instructed had you been here. The numbers were too big though, so we have placed a dozen older folks in the guest rooms on the first floor."

Darcy just nodded as if having tenants in his guest rooms was an everyday occurrence, and I had to admit that it was much of an improvement over having Bingley's sisters so perhaps the storm was not so terribly bad in the end.

Foster outlined in precise and quick detail exactly which cottages were damaged, which streams were still a danger, and which direction we would be riding at first light. Good man that Foster, and I saw once again how Darcy showed him the respect of his position and judgment. Darcy would have to make a number of decisions, but he had no room to complain of what had been done in his absence.

At long last, we managed to climb up to the family wing to our thankfully damp but mostly unmanaged rooms, and I finally had the pleasure of sinking into a hot bath, eating some supper from a tray Mrs. Reynolds had the foresight to send up, and collapsing into bed.

On the morrow, I imagined all talk of the lovely Miss Lucas would be superseded by the things I needed to learn to actually be worthy of her, so perhaps Darcy was right. I just had to trust my sisters, and that thought oddly enough sent me into the best sleep I'd had in years.


	33. Dreams

_A/N: Nothing I can say about this chapter except to just read it. You've been waiting for this._

* * *

The hallucinations were the worst. That is not to disparage the sheer awfulness of the pain or the fever-dreams or what felt like being thrashed or stamped by horses; but the hallucinations were the _very worst_ part of the ordeal. I have no true concept of time during the stretch I was away. I may have lain in complete indifference for the entire few months, and then suffered every circle of Hell within five minutes that stretched to eternity; or perhaps, all of the pain and terror happened that first night lying on the floor in the parsonage and the rest was all restful, blissful sleep. I shall never know, and I doubt I will every truly remember all of the details of the pain and the dreams, but I remember quite enough.

My family tells me I lay thrashing and burning up with fever for three or four weeks while Anne did the same. Anne now says she spent that time in quiet and not so quiet negotiations with the Reaper. Perhaps that is the case, and he divided his time equally between us because we were so conveniently located in the same county and wounded with the same weapon. At the time we were a half-mile apart, and from what I was later told, it is fortunate we can still traverse the path, since Fitzwilliam practically turned it into a ditch a yard deep pacing back and forth between the two.

The nightmares that either happened during the fever, or perhaps another time were truly horrible; but I cannot begins to judge one versus the other for sheer terror. One time Collins was swinging the fire poker, and killed every single person at that supper before finally walking away leaving me staring in horror at the corpses. Another time he hit me again and again and again and again while I felt the pain of every single blow in great detail, but I could not succumb to death or even to unconsciousness. Another time he would use an axe or a tree branch or a woodsman's saw. Another time he burned the parsonage to the ground with all of us inside but I had to watch the destruction of all my family yet still lived. Another time he gave me one of his long winded lectures on how he truly appreciated my intelligence and my fortitude and my cleverness but mostly was enamored with my ability to choose suitable weapons for him. The discussion droned on for hours in his nasal voice, with him repeating the same thing over and over and over and over, and then he finally left to go show the poker to his noble patroness and ask her opinion of its cost and which of the chimneys at Rosings might supply something even deadlier.

All of these and more haunted my rest. In one dream I was in bed, completely unable to move when he came to have his way with me as I lay kicking, screaming or crying, depending on the dream. Even worse was the one where I was laying there welcoming him with open arms and a look of love and adoration, or at least a look of acceptance of my duty. I would have woken up screaming and crying from that one if I could, but alas I could only repeat it and suffer it.

I can remember one dream where I was lying on the bed with a smile of acceptance and perhaps even happiness or even passion, but the man was Fitzwilliam. That one just left me perplexed more than anything else. I certainly did not hate the man like I had, or like I did Collins, nor was I even certain I still disliked him quite so much; but _why him_ , and not one of my more amiable acquaintances. However, at that point I was willing to accept any fever dream that did not include Collins, so I dwelled on that one and its perplexity as long as I could, fearing what might come next; and frankly, welcomed it the next time it came, and the next. Perplexity beats terror.

Mixed in the dream were the hallucinations. I know it may seem like quibbling since a dream and a hallucination are really the same thing, but they were very different experiences. Dreams were a matter of sights and sounds and pain and terror and screaming… ever so much screaming. Nobody could ever scream like I did in those dreams without hacking their very lungs out of their throat.

The hallucinations included feelings that were not pain, and sometime smells or sounds of other people. They would have been very comforting but they were all incongruous, all clearly impossible; and for some reason, they made me truly fear my grip on sanity. A fever dream has been described many times by many people worthier than I for the task, so they were easy enough to understand. You are sick, you have a fever, fever dreams come and you either succumb or you die. The dream does not tear away your very soul, because it is just the fever talking, and no matter how terrible, it is something _else_ that is attacking while _you_ defend.

The hallucinations made me feel I was losing my mind entirely; losing the part of myself that made me **me**. The woman who had chosen such an awful weapon and left it within reach of a madman was a silly and careless woman, but she was **me**. The woman who had danced with a man who despised her, or berated the most powerful man she had ever met for his duty was **me**. The woman who nearly got two relatives of the two most powerful people she knew killed was **me**. The woman engaged in the worst inheritance scheme in history was **me**. That woman may or may not have been worthy, may or may not have been intelligent or clever, may or may not have been honorable; but she was **me** , and I could accept her so long as I could identify her. The hallucinations made me feel I would wake up someone who was **not me** , who had lost something essential, who was no longer truly the woman I was; and that terrified me more than any of the fever dreams. It terrified me far worse than death ever could, because many times during the terrors, I felt I would have welcomed the Reaper with open arms.

I was in the middle of one of the most incongruous hallucinations when it seemed to expand to contain a bit more of my surroundings. They were still odd and incongruous, but there was just _more_ , which was frightening all by itself. I first noticed the _smells_. A burning candle came first, and I would have tried to scream or descend into one of my more painful dreams, but for the first time since the attack, I did not seem to fear fire. The candle was scented beeswax. It was a much finer candle than any I kept around the parsonage, or any that we had grown up with at Longbourn. The smell was incongruous, but not alarming; actually comforting in a way. A beeswax candle would not mean I had lost my grip on sanity, as I could well imagine my sisters indulging in an attempt to see to my comfort, and there was little doubt Fitzwilliam might have helped them. The sound of his boots on my dining table constituted my very last good memory.

The next smell was of fresh cut flowers; perhaps roses, perhaps lavender; perhaps… well, I could not identify it and that brought a sweeping sadness at my lack of discernment, but I was actually quite satisfied with sadness when the alternative was terror.

Next I noticed the smell of… perhaps some type of liniment. It reminded me of the milkmaid's hands, something to do with the cow's udders and it brought a feeling of familiarity against all the oddities of my surroundings. I could smell like a milkmaid, or even take employment as one without losing my grip on myself. I would still be **me**.

Following smells, I started hearing sounds and even imagining I could feel details that were not involved in pain and suffering. I thought I could feel a nightgown and dressing gown around my body. That meant someone had dressed me, but it was obvious my sisters must have been doing that for quite some time. I truly hoped Lady Catherine was not planning to throw the lot of us out of the parsonage when Collins died, as I had yet to assist a single one of them in anything; save allowing Jane to give Fitzwilliam yet another setdown. The poor man got nothing but abuse in the parsonage, yet he kept coming back for more. Perplexing man, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy! This nightgown felt much finer than anything I owned or would ever own, but I imagined that was just because anything that was not sandpaper or burlap would be an improvement over what I had been feeling most of the time. Perhaps my sisters were once again indulging me in luxuries. At least that made sense.

Sounds came next, and it was an odd sound. I thought perhaps I could hear an unfamiliar voice talking, and it had an odd echo, almost as if I were in a bigger room than my bedroom. Perhaps they had moved me into the parlor to allow my sisters to care for me with more convenience. That would be a sensible thing to do.

As I could not quite hear the voice in any detail, I thought about my sisters that had only been returned to me for less than two days before our world collapsed, and it would be some time before I realized these were real thoughts rather than dreams. In that time my sisters had appeared completely altered, but still carrying the Bennet spirit. They seemed much more worthy than any of us had been back in Meryton. Perhaps that was just my change in perspective after a year of this horrible marriage, or perhaps they were all more solid. Either way, they now seemed so worthy, it was not surprising the Netherfield party abandoned the old less worthy Bennets. Not surprising in the least, and for the first time I felt a sense of peace. They were now the sort of women I could easily match up with worthies… they did not even need me. If they had simply stayed in town with Uncle Gardiner, none of this would have happened and they would probably already be well on their way to felicity.

Once I could finally make out the words, I truly began to fear for my grip on reality. My musings on my sisters had been pleasant, but the sounds I finally became aware of were disturbing because I realized that was a hallucination that was much too nice, much too pleasant, much too comforting; and frankly quite impossible. That meant that something necessary, something essential, something that made me who I was must have been left with the Reaper as partial payment because now I was clearly not in the dream world which never included smells in my experience, but this world contained impossibilities.

The sight and sound my mind conjured once I convinced myself I had opened my eyes was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, sitting quietly beside what looked like a big and very elegant bed I had ever seen, quietly reading to me from _The Taming of the Shrew_. I had no idea which part of that hallucination was the most distressing, or frankly the most incongruous. Who was the shrew in this story, me or her? Who was doing the taming? _Why was Lady Catherine de Bourgh sitting beside my bed reading to me?_

Perhaps I made a noise or a movement, because the very next thing I became aware of was sound. The sound of a book hitting the floor, and the next disturbing sight to accost my eyes was my dream version of Lady Catherine jumping from the chair to kneel on the floor on her knees, and her hands reaching out to hold mine with the gentleness of a spring breeze blowing a daffodil. Her words, even harder to comprehend, came next.

"Elizabeth, is that you? Elizabeth? Thank all that is holy, have you come back to us? Please, I pray you are back."

I nearly panicked then, and my well-ingrained and well-practiced desire to flee in terror must have shown in my eyes, because she became alarmed. Her eyes seemed to grow in panic, but thankfully did not turn into another type of demon, as he said.

"I see you are frightened, child. I cannot bear that. Let me go get Jane or Kitty. They both just went to their beds an hour past. Do not be afraid, Elizabeth. All shall be well. Your sisters shall be with you in but a moment."

She seemed, if anything, more concerned for me than seemed possible; and I imagined in my befuddled state that it seemed quite impossible anyone could care for someone such as me, even though she had seen me cut down like wheat by a scythe right in front of her eyes. The idea of her _leaving me_ , to go fetch some demon version of my sisters filled me with terror, and even though I suspect I was weak as a kitten, I allowed my fear to show and grabbed her hands with all the strength I possessed.

She looked at me with a look of… compassion or understanding perhaps, and said, "All right, Elizabeth. I will stay with you. To be truthful, I would consider it a privilege."

She looked at me carefully, and said, "Let me help you with some water, child. Do not try to speak just yet."

She reached over to a side table, poured some water into an odd shaped flagon, and then with the same gentleness you would use with a babe, she lifted my head up and helped me drink a few swallows. The movement seemed familiar, and oddly enough, her part of it seemed well practiced. She continued talking to me gently as we went, trying to keep me from leaving her in panic.

"We have all been frightfully afraid for you Elizabeth. I hope you do not mind that I use your given name, but nobody here uses anything else. The world has quite pivoted around you my girl."

My head was now spinning at all of the impossibilities, and Lady Catherine looked at me carefully, and started speaking quietly, gently as if soothing a very spooked horse that was about to trample you.

"You will be confused. You will be frightened. I wish you could have woken to one of your sisters, but I am here and I will hold the privilege in my heart forever; but you will not understand. Can you hear me Elizabeth? Can you understand my words? Do not try to nod, simply blink your eyes slowly if you understand me and I will explain."

Afraid of any loss of contact, even contact with a dream version of the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I did as I was asked.

"Since I cannot get your sisters Elizabeth, let me explain one thing that will let you understand my presence. You are at Rosings, where you have been for some time and will stay under both my protection and my nephew's for as long as you choose to stay. You shall never be threatened by anybody or anything again."

That was entirely too much for me to understand. Had she told me in was in a cottage supplied by Fitzwilliam, I would not have been the least bit surprised. That was the sort of thing I now knew he would do without a second thought, but to put me into his family's protection was far too much.

Lady Catherine apparently saw my confusion, and spoke in a gentle tone.

"Elizabeth, there is _one thing_ you need to understand, that will bring you the security you need. You are under _my protection_ , because _I understand you_ , in all of your particulars. I _understand_ what you have gone through, more than anyone else in this house can possibly fathom. I _know_ what you have endured, and I will never allow you to be harmed again. I beg you Elizabeth please feel safe and secure and welcome in your home, for that is what this is."

I had no idea at the time why she decided to share that _particular_ piece of information at that particular time, since it could well have crushed me. Perhaps she felt her own overwhelming need to finally unburden herself of years of regrets and recriminations with the only woman she knew who truly could _understand_ her, but I think not. That would have been selfish and irresponsible; and she is neither. I think at that time, she desperately thought I might leave her; that I might even at that late date choose the Reaper over the alternatives; that I might not have the strength to do what needed to be done to recover without a lifeline. She had seen what it had cost Anne to choose life, and she knew my recover would be much worse.

I will never know which explanation holds true, nor will she. That five or ten minutes or perhaps that eternity was the time that the both of us had to find a way to _live_ ; had to find a way to let go of the past. In that interval, we had to find a way to help each other; to lend strength as needed; to offer comfort or censure as needed; to find a way for both of us to navigate our way out of the Hell of our own lives and choices and consequences. In that moment of time, I well and truly understood the great lady. She was telling me in no uncertain terms, which she would clarify more than once during the remainder of our lives together, that I should _not choose her path_. That I should _not_ live a life of regrets and pain and sorrow and shame; that I should _not_ allow a pernicious and vicious man to dictate the terms of the rest of my life, as I now understood she had right up to that moment.

In that moment of time, the great and formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh became Aunt Catherine in my mind, and I became niece, daughter, confessor, confidant and advisor all in one. We were both forged by the same fire, and we would both help each other come back to the world whole and complete if it killed us.


	34. Knitting

It was pure good luck or happenstance or whatever big word Lizzy would use to describe it; that I was the one with her when she woke up the second time. Lady Catherine (I just could not make myself call her 'Aunt') had her first encounter with her in the middle of the night, perhaps 3 o'clock. Lizzy went back to sleep after perhaps five or ten minutes, and Lady Catherine let us sleep the rest of the night in peace, before setting the house on end with her news. I had no idea what if anything they may have discussed, but Lady Catherine seemed _altered_ by the experience. I am not saying that I know the great lady well enough to notice subtle distinctions in her countenance; I mean it was obvious even to Betsy. She looked as Sisyphus might if his rock was suddenly taken away from him; greatly relieved of the burden, but at the same time not quite sure what to do without his rock to roll up the hill. I hoped the feeling of relief would take precedence. We, of course, all the assorted ladies that Lizzy had somehow pulled into Rosings, had not the slightest thing to repine about in the first place; but we all noticed and hoped that whatever Aunt Catherine carried (perhaps I can say that after all), would soon be lifted.

It was not dead in the middle of the night the next time she woke up; for there was not the slightest chance I would be allowed to be up that late, even if I could stay awake. With so many people wanting to sit with her, it was rare for one of us to get more than a couple of hours. We kept a small workbasket beside her bed with various projects, and a stack of books from the Rosings library. Everyone loved to read to Lizzy, and we pretended we knew that she was somewhere inside listening and we were helping her; but mostly we were helping ourselves I think. There is nothing in the world less appealing than feeling helpless, so we had a need to feel like we were _doing something_. I had some real sympathy for Mr. Darcy, who was most certainly _not _accustomed to the idea of helplessness. We females were quite unfairly instructed from birth to the idea, so perhaps it was easier for us, but it was still abominably difficult. Reading, massaging her limbs, feeding her the little bits of broth we could manage to coax down her throat and water were all time consuming; which was just what we needed. Whether we were helping her or not, we were at least able to convince ourselves we were doing all that could be done. I doubt Mr. Darcy would have been driven out of Rosings under any provocation had he not seen our dedication, and had he not trusted us to do what needed doing.

Our workbasket unsurprisingly was filled with baby clothes under various stages of construction. I happened to be knitting a tiny cap at the time. Everyone took a hand at the work at one time or another, so most of the projects showed an alarming lack of regularity, but we did not mind. You could not look at an embroidered shirt done half by Jane and half by Lydia without going cross‑eyed, but we cared not and I doubted my baby would be overly concerned either.

I first noticed a bit of a stirring, but since we had all seen such signs a few times by then without her waking up, I tamped my hopes down relentlessly. The physicians said she might do such for many days before finally waking up, and she might be only awake for minutes at a time for some little while. Our only instructions were to try to get some food down her when she did wake up, talk if she could, but not to be too hard on her if she could not.

I first noticed her hands twitching on the counterpane at around dusk. First they moved around, and I saw some other movement in her eyes, but nothing more for some long minutes. If I were a better person I would have gone to get her sisters immediately, but like Lady Catherine, I wanted my share of her attention first; and besides there was a very good chance this would be another bit of false bait. We would see.

I then saw her fingers running themselves over the counterpane, and squeezing the fabric between them, as if she could not believe she was in such a fine bed. I expected her to be confused, and the best advice in my opinion we had heard was to allow her to come to her senses by herself. Of course, there were others who advocated everything from that, to dumping cold water on her at the first signs of recovery. Naturally, those holding that opinion were only obliged to give it one time in front of Aunt Catherine before they were chased out of Rosings with footmen searching frantically for some cold water to demonstrate the technique. Lady Catherine is not a woman to be crossed.

I saw Lizzy's eyes open, and thought that might be a good time to talk to her, but I could not in truth bring myself to do it. I have no idea why; whether I was being courteous, generous or cowardly; but I simply waited for her to become aware of where she was. I saw her look at her hands, and then around the room, and finally across the bed towards where I sat. I was in the same chair Lady Catherine had used the night before, so she seemed to be naturally looking in that direction as if expecting someone to be here. I noticed her eyes were looking down as she came to see me. It was close to bedtime so I was wearing a shift with a dressing gown over it. They were very fine, just like everything in Rosings. My stomach was not all that prominent yet. It was obvious I was with child when I was in my normal dresses, but not so obvious now. I saw her eyes gradually work her way up to my face, and was gratified to see a smile appear on her face that looked like the sun coming out.

She tried to say my name, but only coughed weakly a few times; which finally brought me to my senses. I jumped up and went to the side table for some water, and helped her drink it, all the while talking to her as soothingly as I could.

"Lizzy, welcome back! Welcome back, my friend! I am sure Aunt Catherine must have told you how worried we all are for you. Please do not overexert yourself, but you truly need to eat some food. You are half-starved. Do you think you could take a little broth or bread? You have been asleep for some time but you woke up and talked to Aunt Catherine last night. Do not fret. You are warm and dry and protected by an army of sisters. All is well! Just concentrate on resting and coming back to us."

All of this came out in a rush, and to be truthful I probably left out at least half of the babbling I was doing at the time. She drank her water, and finally managed to speak a few words.

"Charlotte! What are you doing here? And, where exactly is here?"

The more sensible physicians had said she might be confused, and we might have to explain the same things several times; but not to be overly alarmed. The fact that she recognized me was quite enough for me for one day, because the selfsame physicians warned that if and when she returned, she might be _altered_ or _reduced_. I truly hated the way physicians talked.

I finally came to my senses and replied, "You are at Rosings under Lady Catherine's protection. This was Anne's room, but it is now yours. Anne and you both had very near brushes with death, but Anne is recovering nicely… a bit testily, but nicely. You have been in this bed these almost three months. We are all here; all your sisters, myself and another friend of mine, Betsy. Your Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had to go to Pemberley, but will be back instantly once the messenger gets there."

I was telling her this and much more besides as I ran to the fire to get some broth to feed her. We had been coaxing broth down her for weeks, but it was always a messy business and not particularly effective.

Elizabeth allowed me to feed her some broth until she had taken perhaps half a bowel, which was all I expected her to take and a bit more water without very much comment.

In between bites, she said somewhat impertinently, "He is not _my_ Mr. Darcy."

This seemed like it could be an endless discussion, so I simply said, "We shall see."

She again seemed ready to argue, but did not have the strength for it.

Finally, when she was sated, I started to feel guilty about not running for her sisters. Not guilty enough to actually share her company mind you, but guilty nonetheless. Elizabeth had been watching me quite carefully, and she said, "There is something different about you Charlotte. You move differently. You look different, but I cannot put my finger on it."

Considering she had barely managed to move her finger half a foot since waking up, that was not surprising, but I thought I should just get the surprise over with.

I stood up, and grasping the edges of the dressing gown, I drew it tight enough for her to see the bump. She gasped, and started to speak, but I waylaid her by saying, "Do not ask about the father Lizzy. We shall not be discussing him any time soon, if ever. You shall have a new godchild in around five months."

At that point, for some reason I was very near to tears. I had mostly tried to manage my own fears and worries myself, whilst remaining strong for Betsy. I had always been closest to Elizabeth. I had a certain type of closeness to Jane, but like everyone else, I had never really pierced her reserve enough for true camaraderie back in Meryton. The only person I had ever truly felt connect to was Elizabeth, and I was truly coming to realize just how big of a hole her absence had left in my life this past year. I felt there might be things I could share with Lizzy that I could not share with Jane or anyone else; and I sensed that we all knew _part_ of her story, but not _all_ of it. The part we knew was bad enough, but I hoped I could perhaps hear the rest and in some way be of some service to her when the time came.

She just said, "Come here, and patted the counterpane beside herself, so I started to sit down, on the bed, but she said, "No, not that."

I felt an intense feeling of relief that she seemed to be _back_ , in fact, she seemed to be all back, cleverness and perceptiveness included; which we had not been at all certain would happen. I removed my dressing gown, lifted the blankets and climbed into the bed with her and we just held each other and went to sleep.

It was perhaps the middle of the night, when I woke up with a gasp of alarm. I had fallen asleep without telling anyone that Elizabeth had awakened, and felt terribly guilty about it. I started to get up to rectify it, but heard an unexpected voice.

"Where are you going child? Go back to sleep at once. All is well."

I just smiled, as it made me feel warm and safe for perhaps the first time in quite some time, and just said, "Yes, Aunt" before succumbing to sleep once again.

* * *

It was just after dawn when I woke up and saw Jane sitting where I had been the night before, unraveling the little cap that I had mangled beyond all recognition the evening before, with a soft smile. She heard me stir and said, "Stay where you are, Charlotte. I have been keeping some tea and breakfast warm for you on the fireplace."

She then took one last look at the poor little cap and set it down for the moment. I knew she would fix it, even if there was nothing left but a long piece of yarn by the time she was satisfied she was back at a good starting place. She went to the fireplace, where true to form all the things she had suggested were in place. I had heard that these were Mr. Darcy's idea, since he knew people would be here at all hours of day and night, and did not want us having to wake up servants and wait for them to see to our own comfort. I never really knew if he did that for our comfort or the servants, but it did not really matter in the end. The man we all thought we knew in Hertfordshire was so long gone; nobody in Meryton would even recognize him.

Jane continued, "I should really chastise you for not telling us Lizzy woke up Charlotte, but I do not have the heart for it. Perhaps I can go fetch Anne."

We both had a bit of a laugh at that. Anne was quite formidable when she wanted to be, but fortunately, she seldom wanted to be… except when we were forcing her to do her exercise.

Jane continued, "Lizzy woke up again in the middle of the night and talked to Aunt Catherine, but this time she called for me and I got to talk to her for a few minutes. We were all worried she might come out of this ordeal addled, but she appears to be perfect, except she cannot talk for more than five minutes running."

"Are you not certain it is not you that is addled?"

We both laughed in surprise, and looked over at Elizabeth, who lay there wide eyed and said, "What does a woman have to do to get a cup of tea in this estate?"

* * *

Nobody had the heart to try to drag poor Lizzy out of bed for even the tiniest bit of exercise, but the rest of the day was a madhouse; well at least it was if you consider six girls sitting demurely at some type of work while staring at Lizzy, and walking quietly or not so quietly in and out of the room a madhouse. I felt the most rested I had in months, and was eventually prevailed upon to go do my penance for failing to wake up the sisters by helping Anne into the room and back once she was worn out. She could nearly walk on her own now, but nobody was comfortable with her making such an arduous journey on her own, since it was all of a dozen yards.

Lady Catherine came in and visited from time to time, but for the most part she was content to allow us the daylight hours while she haunted the nights. It had been working well for her thus far.

Lizzy would wake up every couple of hours, talk to those present for a few minutes, and then generally go back to sleep. We all liked to think her sleep was more restful than it had been before, but we would not know for some time, if ever. Anne told us it was best to not ask, and we took her advice.

* * *

I was sitting alone with Elizabeth again just before I retired when Aunt Catherine came and asked, "Elizabeth, we have been writing to my nephews daily."

She pointedly ignored my grimace at the mention of the plural form of the word 'nephew', and carried on.

"We did not write of your awakening yesterday, but have done so today. He will almost certainly be on his horse the moment he receives the letters. Would you like to…"

Whatever she was about to say had to go unsaid, as Elizabeth interrupted her most vehemently.

"He most certainly will **not**!"

Aunt Catherine looked interested, but unperturbed at the interruption, and asked casually, "Why, may I ask?"

Elizabeth said, "If Rosings was halfway destroyed and a dozen of your tenant cottages destroyed, would you be taking a leisurely stroll to Derbyshire? He has his duty, and he must see to it!"

She showed more animation in this conversation than she had in any of the previous ones, and seemed overly concerned about Pemberley, if you were to ask me. It was not as if Mr. Darcy had not been taking care of an estate for some time, or as if he needed advice from the likes of us.

Aunt Catherine said, "Most assuredly not, but I am not my nephew."

Elizabeth seemed much more agitated than the situation called for. All of her sisters had assured me that any bad blood between her and Mr. Darcy seemed to have been healed, and they even had a peculiar sort of _friendship_ , although with only one day to see there interaction, most of my sisters were not very much better informed than I was. All we knew was that since her fall, he had acted either the guiltiest protector or the most besotted fool in the country. It was difficult to tell which, but the latter explanation seemed much more reasonable.

Elizabeth said, "Georgiana told me a bit of the damage this morning, and he most certainly cannot leave it in that state."

To me, this seemed like a continuation of a conversation that neither Aunt Catherine nor I were privy to, nor were we likely to. I could see the lady considering carefully, before she said, "I would agree with you Elizabeth, he should be seeing to his duty, but my history of bending him to my will is not auspicious. He goes where he will."

Somewhat petulantly I thought, Elizabeth said, "He can go where he wills, so long as he does not will to go through that door."

Aunt Catherine just laughed at that, and said, "If you plan to stop him at that door, you may want to start your efforts now, because absent some encouragement stronger than I am capable of, he will be here in less than ten days."

Elizabeth thought carefully for a moment, and for a time we thought she had gone to sleep. Finally, she said the oddest thing, "He has an excellent memory, at least for hurtful things I have said."

Aunt Catherine leaned over, took one of her hands gently, and whispered, "Have there been many of those?" I suspect she had forgotten I was there, or perhaps she just trusted me.

Elizabeth said, "More than you can ever know."

Aunt Catherine said, "How do you propose I dissuade him… and why precisely do you _not_ want him here. Is it that you do not want him to see you like this, skinny, unattractive and still married?"

Aunt was nothing if not blunt, which to tell the truth was my favorite thing about her.

Elizabeth said, quite curiously, "That is of no importance. There will never be the type of… relationship… between the two of us where that matters. It is just…"

Aunt just held onto her hand, and said nothing, waiting patiently.

Finally, Elizabeth said, "I cannot let him see me this _weak_. He is the only one who knows _all_ of my secrets, and I have not the strength to argue with him if he tries to dissuade me from what I must do."

That sounded genuinely alarming, and I could see the look spreading to Aunt's features the same as to mine, but she had enough sense to let it go… for the moment.

Aunt said, "Tell me what to tell him, Elizabeth."

She said, "Write this exactly, if you will, Aunt. These exact words! No more and no less!"

 _"Do I truly have to explain it to you, Mr. Darcy? It all seems so obvious to me that it should not even need to be spoken of."_

She seemed exhausted by the ordeal, understandably, but before she fell asleep, she said, "He will understand. He will do his duty. Tell him _Easter_! I shall welcome _my friend _on Easter Sunday, and not a day before."


	35. Quarry

_A/N: Once again, I have to thank everybody for the tremendous feedback I've been getting. My ego would thank you again, but he believes that you are just giving him the respect that is his due :) I wonder what would happen if I put emoticons like that in the middle of Regency text? Would people get out pitch or creosote; or maybe a pitchfork or would locking me in a room with Mrs. Bennet be sufficient? Hmmmmm…._

 _Mr. Darcy, that is the most insulting proposal of my life ;(_

 _At any rate, I'm tremendously enjoying the reviews. Last Monday gave me the biggest single day hit count ever, and this month has just been tremendous start to finish._

 _Everybody's either loving the depth of characters and breadth of the story; or bored to death with the side stories. I'm hoping for more of the former and less of the latter. Feel free to weigh in with a review. I have noticed that guest reviewers seem crankier on average than named reviewers, as expected. I'm happy to have guest reviewers, but if you sign in I will usually PM a reply to you._

 _The timing is not super-obvious, but Lizzy really only asked Darcy to stick to his duty for a month (which is about five years in Darcy-Time). I will make it a little more obvious in an edit, but Lizzy woke up around March 1, and Easter is April 18. Best case for a letter to Pemberley is 4 days, and 4-5 days travel back; so he would be ten days at best. A month probably won't kill him, although I suspect he'll think it will. Hopefully that will be long enough for Lizzy to talk Charlotte off the ledge. Everything that happened between the initial eavesdropping episode and Collins attack was just over a week, so the first part of the story was in fact jam-packed._

 _Lizzy woke up confused, but aware that Wickham is still alive, and her father still has his appointment with the gravestone. However, she does not quite realize that there is very little of her original motivation left since all of her sisters are fully protected and you couldn't pry them out of Rosings with a crowbar. We'll find out what she does once she figures that out. _

_Here's an open and somewhat unrelated question for the nerds who didn't just scroll down to the line. JA almost never used contractions, so I have been experimenting with an almost total embargo on them the last couple of stories. I used to mix them in at about half my normal level because I thought the text a bit stilted without them but thought I would give it a shot. Now that I've been doing it for a while, I am completely undecided. So, if you'd like to weigh in, that's the open question (or if you would like to express your opinion). Contractions – Yeah, or Nay? This story will obviously keep the current style, but it's not my last story by a long shot (I currently have 3 novellas and 2 novels in progress, and that's to say nothing of the new epilogues for Elizabeth Bennet's Wager)._

 _I have one new character to introduce, probably the penultimate (next to last). The POV should be recognizable within two sentences._

 _Wade_

* * *

 ** _Bloody Heaving Slatternly Ballocks_** _, I hated St. Giles._ I hated every damn thing about the festering slunkhole. There was not a cherry tart to be had anywhere, without a price and sometimes a hidden price. The older strumpets were as likely to kill you as give you a good taste of quim, and it was entirely a matter of chance whether they got you with the clap, the french pox, a confederate after your purse, or a knife to the throat. The gambling was exciting, except that most of the tables were populated with entirely too many bears and not enough chickens for my taste. This was truly a dangerous place, even for a man such as myself, accustomed to suchlike. The players were not _unfriendly_ , precisely. They just had a very different idea of the right division of stacks than I did, and a decided lack of interest in extending debts of honor. Once you got behind, you stayed behind. I hated every stinking thing about St. Giles… except for the fact that pigs, thief catchers, creditors and most importantly, the militia, never came here. I even knew Darcy had a dozen men looking for me in other places, but they would never find me here, no matter how big the reward, so long as I kept my head down and did not get noticed.

The mark was familiar. Something about him rang out as someone I had once known, but not well. Being acquainted with someone could be a good thing or bad, depending on how and where you knew him, and how you played it. The wrong man could gain more advantage by making my presence known to certain people than through gambling; while others could be worked if you knew their story; especially if they had an excess of coinage and a lack of good sense. There was advantage to knowing something about a man, particularly if he did not know you were even there. I could not remember exactly where I had seen him, but I was certain I had. He had the look of new gentry on the way down, a flash of money maybe from his father; that he did not have the sense to hang on to. It was a look I could easily recognize, since I was the same… except without the money. His clothing was of the first circles, but it had not seen a valet in some time. His hair was once fashionable, but was now becoming unkempt, even worse than a tradesman. A tradesman would have been taking care of his appearance all his life and would know what he was about. This was a man who had been pampered, but was no longer being seen to. He had learned the rudiments, but there was no style to it… no flair… certainly no fashion. His boots were recently buffed, but it had the look of a man who did not particularly know how to do it, or more likely a street boy who knew how to take advantage of a chucklehead.

He obviously did not recognize me. I watched him most carefully; he and his confederate who pretended they were not known to each other. They both had the look of desperation about them. Their card play was careful and even most of the time but with odd lapses. There were no big shows of flash or elegance, and they were holding their own for the moment but I could tell the cards would not be friendly to them over the long night. Neither of them had the stones to make the big bets that might make them a real score; but on the other hand, their odds of being found by creditors and dumped in the river were probably about even; whereas mine were decidedly worse if someone were to recognize me.

Even if I had known them before, there was little chance of them recognizing me. I looked nothing at all like I had a year or two ago. Colonel Miller had seen to that. Life in the militia had seemed like such a lark. Pretty girls were falling all over themselves to attract a handsome officer, even if we did not have two farthings to rub together. I would sometimes even get two or three sisters competing with each other to lay their precious _virtue_ open to my perusal. The best had been that family of five daughters in Meryton, until the mousy bitchy one interrupted my fun. They were all just like sheep, easily found, easily led and easily slaughtered by the big bad wolf. Gentlewomen and shopkeepers were equally easy to manipulate in those small villages outside town where the society was easy, the fathers were lax, and the militia held in high esteem. Better yet, villagers were happy to extend credit, should you apply with all the appearance of a gentleman. Fellow officers were easy to bamboozle and happy to take debts of honor, certain it would be repaid. They were as easy to fool as Darcy.

It all came crashing down with a change in commander, and the new one was nowhere near as accommodating as Forester had been. He was one of those pox-infested _honorable men_ who felt it his _duty_ to protect the local cattle, and worse yet took his business _seriously… deadly serious_. It was hard to tell with Miller whether he truly felt a duty to protect the citizens, or whether he just liked the whip, but I can tell you, _he does like his whip. _His pleasure with the instrument was obvious to any who watched; and he made _dead certain_ everyone watched. Whether that was to improve the punishment or to give him an audience, he would not say… but being of a similar bent, I imagine the latter was the case.

I can tell you here and now, that I do _not_ recommend thirty lashes. Even one was too many. The man was also in love with showing off his _skill_ , and managed to lay one on each cheek to go along with those on my back, and since one cheek already had a festering wound from the tart's fingers, it got ugly. The changes in my looks were not in the least helpful in my quest for sweet young things. It is one thing for the silly sisters to fall in love with a handsome, well‑mannered and well‑dressed militiaman, but quite another to go for a man in ragged cast‑off clothes with scars on each cheek. It was only by the sheerest good fortune I managed to escape the prison cart taking me to 'serve' in France, but now I had to hide in the worst slums in London until I could manage enough coin to go somewhere entirely different. I could have tried to make my way overland to Scotland or Ireland, but there were just too many soldiers on the roads looking for deserters like me; and they had very more efficient and permanent idea of 'justice' than Miller. The docks were out of bounds, as the navy was impressing men at a frightful clip, even if you looked upstanding. So I was stuck here, trying to make one more big play to get me to a place I could live with my head attached to my neck for some time.

* * *

It took me three days of following the newcomers before I finally remembered who he was, and then I became _very_ suspicious. _Bingley_! I had met him briefly in Hertfordshire when he had an estate there, and he was apparently great friends with Darcy. As I remembered, he was after the eldest Miss Bennet, but then ran off the same night I did. Maybe he tried his hand at his girl and was rebuffed as well. I was fairly certain based on… what was her name… Sarah?... Charlotte?... Mary?... No, wait. Mary was the little strumpet who kept me away from the delights of the youngest… Lillian?... Abagail?... Rebecca?... No wait, Lydia. Oh yes, the delightful Lydia! Pretty as an angel, and dumb as a basket of hammers. So according to her, Darcy took a run at one of the elder sisters… Anne?... Hannah? No wait, Elizabeth. Yes, Lovely Lizzy. She was ripe for the plucking, but I saw her tear the hide off one of the other boys who got a bit fresh, so I thought to try my hand at fresher and more willing meat. Yes, _Elizabeth_! I had not thought of them in some time, but now that I think of it, Darcy must have taken a run at her at that ball, and she probably has his stones in a sack on her mantelpiece. She really disliked him, while he just stared at her like a mooncalf.

So, Bingley! Could I use him? What was he doing here? It took another two days of asking questions to find out the scuttlebutt. He had sold his townhouse, with some weak sounding excuses, and then started gambling in Rookeries. He was definitely a man who could no longer afford to gamble in his usual haunts, but why? Another two days of watching him carefully told the truth. I almost missed it. He took a swipe from a bottle of gin he kept on the table, but then so fast I almost missed it, he took a swig from _another bottle_ , and then it all became clear. _Laudanum!_ So, the boy was an opium eater. That explained a lot. If you wanted to turn yourself into a chuckleheaded idiot fit only for the army, and did not have the patience to do it with gin, opium would do the job nicely. I had seen more than one member of the gentry brought down by it. One or two bad wagers when muddled and ever so _happy_ and your estate was gone. Make the bet just a bit bigger and your sister and mother were gone with them. I remembered his sister… pretty girl, but nasty as a badger, chasing after Darcy like a calf to the teat. Yes, I could use an opium eater.

He looked at me somewhat strangely an hour after I joined him at a table and cleaned him out of a few pounds. He made odd wagers, as if his mind was not quite on the game; which may have been true or may have been an act. But then, as I watched him carefully I remembered more of what I had heard in Meryton from people who kept company with him. He was a happy, bumbling sort of man that leaned on Darcy for everything. Didn't even know how to ride his estate, and bought elegance by throwing fistfuls of money at it. Not the type of man who would come hunting for me in St. Giles, that was for certain! It would take a hard‑bitten man to come after me here, and there was not the slightest chance of taking me out of the district by force. At least in the slums, we were united against everyone else. He could certainly cut my throat if he wanted to, but if he was going to do that, he would have already.

I finally broached the subject.

"I believe I may know you sir!"

His expression was as blank as that Lydia chit's, and he said, "I think not."

"Bingley, right?"

Now he looked at me. Granted, with longer and unkempt hair that had more than a bit of black dye, and a full beard similarly treated and the scars on my cheeks, I looked quite different.

"How do you know me?"

"We were in company, in Meryton."

At that, he spit on the floor and went back to his cards. Apparently, he was not that enamored with Meryton.

"I believe you were friends with a man I grew up with. Darcy?"

The man thoroughly surprised me by standing up, reaching across, grabbing my cravat and dragging me halfway onto the table by my neck.

" _Do not say that name in my presence!"_

So, it seemed the pup had grown some teeth.

"My apologies, sir! I had not realized you had a falling out."

He seemed to gradually come to himself, and his face returned to its normal color.

"Forgive me! I get… agitated when I hear that name."

That sounded promising.

"Forgive me. Having known the so called gentleman all my life, I can understand your feelings. What has he done to you? Withheld a debt? Owes you money?"

He scowled at that, so I carried on as if I had only a passing interest in the conversation, and took another swig of my watered down gin.

"Maybe he ruined your sister?"

At that, we both howled like monkeys. His sister would take her ruination with the greatest pleasure, not that I could imagine any man dunderheaded enough to attempt it."

"Maybe he denied your affection for _his_ sister?"

That was it! I saw his face contort in a look of rage for just the tiniest of seconds, before he schooled it into drunken indifference. So, the man was besotted with Darcy's sister, and denied access to her treasures… all 30,000 of them.

"So, that is the way it is. Not a man from _trade_ for _his_ precious _sister_ , eh! Does he also owe you money?"

His hand squeezed his bottle of gin until I thought it was like to break, and said, "Yes."

Pushing my luck, I said, "Why have you not requested _kindly_ that he pay you back."

He looked sheepishly at that, and finally said, "I cannot take him by myself. My friend over there…"

And there he glanced at his confederate.

"… is afraid of the man and offers no help."

So, the man wanted some revenge on Darcy. Interesting!

"A sensible attitude. He is a powerful man."

"Just a man"

I took another sip of my gin, and said, "Should you wish some… assistance… I assume the work would be well paid?"

He looked at me with a cagy look, as if evaluating me, before finally replying.

"Very well"

"How will you get at him? All of his houses have servants piled up to the ceiling, and some of them are armed to the teeth."

Here he chuckled, and asked, "Are you serious about this. There is no going back after this."

The fool did not know there was always going back… always leaving things behind… _always_ someone to pick up the pieces… and it might be his turn.

"Dead serious! I have my own debts to collect."

He looked at me appraisingly for a few minutes, apparently trying to determine if I looked trustworthy enough to at least not stab him in the back… not that he would ever show me his back or I show him mine.

"I have a man who has been keeping quiet tabs on his movements. He keeps a bit of muslin at the parsonage near his aunt's estate in Kent. You may know her. Mrs. Collins… formerly Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

I had to smile at that. Apparently, _not_ so unsuccessful. All the milk without paying for the cow.

"I assume her husband finds that inconvenient?"

"You met the man. Will he oppose Darcy?"

That was interesting. Right under the old bat's nose! Maybe Darcy was growing up, but he was still only one man, and he would keep that sort of thing quiet as a mouse… would not want to endanger precious _Georgiana's_ reputation. I think not!

He took a breath, stared at me hard, and said, "Do you know it – the parsonage?"

So, the trout wanted the bait. Time to set the hook.

"I know it well. I spent many summers there, and the last parson had an… accommodating daughter. I know it _very_ well."

Now the man looked at me more carefully, for a very long time. Finally, he blew out a breath.

"Can you get into the parsonage and back out without being seen? That is what I have been waiting for. The place will be surrounded, and I cannot afford to be caught."

"It could be done. When?"

"Saturday week"

And with that, the chucklehead walked right into my trap. Oh, we would go to Kent together all right. Probably in his carriage, if he still had one. We would go into the parsonage together. We would collect some money or some blood from Darcy; I would take either. He had very good horseflesh, so with my intimate knowledge of the stables at Rosings and the surrounding countryside from many a tryst, I could get away with one or two horses clean. But only one of us would leave the parsonage for the greener pastures of Scotland.


	36. Plaster

I must admit I was having a _most difficult_ time making a momentous decision. It is a choice which will no doubt be passed to grandchildren as accumulated wisdom, and must be made most carefully. My conundrum is that I could not decide which thing I liked more.

The first candidate was the look of my cousin's fist, ragged bloody and bruised. While a truly _worthy_ cousin would never take pleasure in another's pain; I must confess I have never pretended to be a good cousin.

The second candidate was the wall in Pemberley, where said fist was now entombed. Granted, it had already been damaged by water before we got there so it is not as if he was punching through stone. A little rotten plaster and lathe was hardly even worth mentioning. In a battle, it would not have served as cover against an army of mice, let alone French.

The third was the various look of absolute joy, excitement, consternation, probably love but who am I to say, and burning explosive _frustration_ with the word spit out like an expletive, " **Easter** "

That probably would have been the favorite, if I had not pumped the bellows on the forge just a bit with my comment, _"Trust your sisters, cousin!"_

The look then contained no love… but it did contain a lot of frustration, but he at long last apparently decided even with the poor condition of the plaster, he had no need to abuse his hand again by hitting me… but I could see it was a well thought out decision that could have gone either way.

I finally decided to take pity on the poor man, and said, "Darce Easter is just five weeks away. We have travel time, so she is really only asking you to wait _three weeks_ , and you could not possibly leave for ten days or more anyway, so at most she has delayed you a week or two. It will not kill you. She probably wants to be strong enough to oppose whatever mad scheme you plan to throw at her when we get back."

The man finally calmed down, and said, "She has banned me from Rosings!"

"Yes, I gathered that."

He just chuckled and said, "The roads are very bad anyway. We should leave early enough to insure our safe arrival. It would not do to have an accident or be late Easter services."

"You are the most cautious of masters. I applaud your good sense."

Then his face split into a grin, having apparently come up with some probably bad idea that I was certain we were about to implement. He had thrown money and workmen at Pemberley like a madman since we arrived, and even hired three temporary overseers to help the steward, so there was not _really_ anything keeping us here except Elizabeth's instruction after about another week or so.

He finally looked at the letter again, and said, "She did not ban us from the _parsonage_!"

Ho-Ho… This was the Master of Pemberley once again, working his magic.

* * *

I can tell you this. With an injured leg and an overexcited cousin, it is not a great idea to try to cram ten years of instruction in estate management into ten days, but Darcy did his best to provide it; and I did my best to absorb it. I imagined _my Charlotte_ probably knew more about it than Darcy did anyway, but thought I should do my best. Ten days seems like a year if your life is just waiting to start, and if you spend half of it on a horse and half sitting your arse on a chair; both of which involved an endless stream of instructions from my cousin, it can in fact seem like ten years.

At long last, the day to depart came. We had personally chosen the design for all the new cottages. Darcy showed me how to get the best information about any part of the estate from the people who worked it day in and day out, year after year. The tenants were not a well-educated lot, but they did have good ideas from time to time. For example, we hired a dozen men to dig a drainage ditch for one of the overflowing creeks that would have saved the cottage had it been done a year sooner. Many of the wives had suggestions about the layout of the kitchens or the attics, and Darcy listened patiently to all and implemented those that made sense. Some of the cottages were moved to higher or lower ground as appropriate. Many wells and barns were not in the best condition so we sent men to repair them. Darcy explained that a break like this was a good time to shore up all the accumulated problems that never seemed quite important enough to fix or even notice during a normal year.

Darcy also gave quite a good lesson in how to be a master… how to talk to your tenants with the right level of respect, when to bounce a child on the knee or send him back to his mother. When a young boy could be treated as slightly more than he was, and when the opposite was required. I was astounded that here in his own world, Darcy was an entirely different man than he was while he was wandering through the first circles with a target on his back. If Elizabeth could have spent her first week with him here, he would not be in any danger of having lost her love; and I suspect there was no chance she would have let him get away either.

In the end, I had to admit one thing to myself; although I would certainly never say it to my cousin. Mrs. Reynolds was right… Darcy was the best of masters, and I only hoped I could do as well on whatever small estate my family selected for me. I would have to admit that Darcy was _very_ cagey about exactly where said estate was, though.

* * *

The trip to Kent took some days, and Darcy continued the lessons apace with hardly a break. It seemed to me he wanted to be sure he had done all he could before he met _his Elizabeth_ , probably correctly surmising that he would be entirely worthless as in instructor when she was present or even within the same county.

I occasionally bludgeoned him into other conversation.

"Darcy, you are clearly in love with Elizabeth. How do you plan to dispose of her husband?"

Perhaps that question was on the blunt side, but once said, it could not be unsaid.

Darcy looked pained, and finally said, "I cannot break a confidence, but suffice it to say that Elizabeth does not intend to marry again once he dies. His death will come soon enough, and I will deal with it after that, but I have a long uphill climb in front of me. For the moment, I will do nothing but try to take care of Elizabeth to the best of my abilities."

I watched him carefully for another moment to see if there was more.

"Richard, Aunt Catherine and I _do_ plan to purchase you an estate, but that is not the _primary_ reason for teaching you to be a landowner."

This was news. He had been quite reticent about his sudden interest in my health and happiness.

"Please enlighten me, cousin"

He stared out the window for a moment, and continued.

"I have _money_ aplenty, but I lack _time_. I need an heir for Pemberley, but I also _need_ Elizabeth and I am not certain she even likes me. She certainly did not a week before the attack. In fact, she despised me more than your Charlotte dislikes you. She disliked me for good reasons."

He seemed pensive, but I let him think a few minutes more.

"I need _time_ … time for her husband to die… time for her to… well, I will not discuss that. I need time for her to be healed, and if a man's love can make the difference, she will have all of it I have in me and more, but all of that takes time."

He paused, but I could tell he was just thinking so held my peace once again.

"I need an heir, but as Elizabeth pointed out in some detail and no uncertain terms…"

He even flinched at that one, so it must have been a most uncomfortable conversation. How did someone like Elizabeth and him end up in such a conversation?

He finally came back to his point, "I cannot leave Pemberley at risk for thirty years. I need an heir _now_."

He stared at me as a sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, and for the first time I wished I was back with lunkheaded Frenchmen shooting at me. At least I knew how to deal with that.

" _You_ _are to be my heir_. You are to stand in my place should I fall until such a time as my son is worthy of replacing you; or yours or Georgiana's son should it come to that. I need time for my love to heal wounds, and I am requesting, though it is a lot to ask, that you give me that time. That is the price for your independence, and I know it is heavy, but I will ask it anyway."

Much to his credit, he did not plead, or argue or discuss once he had made his request. I had known in some vague way that there was a chance my brother might not survive long enough for his son to take over Matlock and I might be master, but that was like being vaguely aware a storm could come up suddenly to kill you, or your horse might bolt or a ship might sink. It may or may not happen, but the odds were in your favor and you need not actually prepare yourself for it.

Here, I was being asked to assume _responsibility_ for an entire region, hundreds of people and an entire community. As a Colonel I had commanded men, but that was always so immediate. We all knew we were to fight. We _followed orders_ and either died or prevailed, or possibly something worse, but whatever we did would be over in an hour or a year. We would be victors or vanquished, whole or broken, alive or dead; but we would be _done_. Here, Darcy was asking me to be _responsible_ with no orders from anyone for hundreds of children and grandchildren not yet born. For the very first time in my life I got a true glimpse of what it was like to carry Darcy's burden. I had seen many men carry such with the greatest of ease, but only men without a conscience. A man like Darcy would carry it at great cost.

A few minutes of frightened panic ensued, and I will not bore you with the thoughts and fears that went through my mind. It settled soon enough, and I replied.

"I would be honored, cousin."

Now he just smirked, and said, "I only have one demand of you."

"Yes"

He tried to look clever, but ended up seeing some memory that just made him flinch.

"You take care of _our generation_ , cousin. Should I fall, you need to take care of the _next_. You _need_ a wife, and if you cannot win Miss Lucas, you need to find another. Neither of us can be as lackadaisical about it as we have been thus far.

I stared him down, and said, "You need a wife too, Darcy. Tell me a date, perhaps one year from now, where if you have not secured Elizabeth you will bow to the inevitable, and I will agree to the same."

He simply reached his hand across and shook mine. We had one year.


	37. Broken

_A/N: Once again I thank you for the tremendous response. I had a contest for the 500th review and the 600th. Now it's time for the 700th, so hurry along. Best get right to it (yes, yes, I know. American slang from 50 years later)._

 _You get a twofer today because… well, mainly because I don't have a filter. I just write it and throw it out there. I won't do a spoiler, but you can probably tell we're closer to the end than to the beginning. Had enough manly-man talk last chapter? Here's some girl-talk for you, and another piece to the puzzle. Wade_

* * *

I have to say I love Lizzy's impertinent nature. I of course also loved that she was strong as an ox and stubborn as a mule, which meant she fit in well with Mother. She had only been awake a couple of weeks when she was tramping up and down the stairs of Rosings, anxious to get outside. Well, perhaps not up and down the stairs so much as down the hall or at least she could get to the door of her room unassisted. She was already both showing herself to be naturally resilient and recovering nicely; and disinclined to accept my supposed sloth.

We were sitting around at a table in her room; with _we_ being the group she affectionately called 'the broken sisters'. It was hard to say which of us were more broken, but we were all at the very least tested. Lizzy's tests were now known to all of us, although Mother and I suspected there was something she had not told us. None of us had the courage to broach the subject though. Something Fitzwilliam had said before he left, made me think he knew more than he let on, but we were not to know until we saw him at Easter; if he managed to keep his impatience in check, which seemed unlikely.

Mother's status in the group was now generally known by the four of us, and we had no idea if the rest of the Bennet sisters knew. Nobody thought any of them would think less of her for it, but it was not a topic of discussion. For myself, since I had been sick most of my life and recovered just in time for a madman to try to kill me, my membership in the group seemed reasonable. I imagine learning my father was the cause of my mother's membership in the group should have distressed me immensely, but since I could not even remember him, I was curiously disinclined to worry about it. I was just happy to have my mother back.

The last member of our erstwhile group was naturally Charlotte, whose membership was fairly obvious. Discussion started with me asking a quite harmless question.

"Mother, do you suppose Lizzy and I could go for a ride in my Phaeton."

Mother was far more amiable now after her transformation, or really since the Bennet sisters had joined our lives, but she was still master of the house.

"Yes, or course Anne. You can both ride the phaeton all day if you like… as soon as you walk downstairs and climb onto it."

She may as well have suggested we could ride as soon as we walked to town to pick it up, but I was not to be so easily dissuaded.

"How about just a half-hour and I will not drive. You can have one of the grooms just ride the pony or even just lead it around. Please, Mother."

Mother and I were just trying to determine how to live together in the same house. We had a long history of either ignoring each other or talking over each other, so these little steps seemed an important part of establishing our equanimity.

Mother looked at Lizzy who would not press her, but looked like I was suggesting the best idea she had ever heard of, so finally she relented.

"If you manage to get yourself down there with _only_ your sister's assistance, then you may ride out for a half hour. You will bundle up, and I will have Smith leading the pony. No riding, just leading."

We were both very agreeable to the plan. Lizzy looked like she was going to suggest the curricle so the other sisters could go, but mother insisted, "Just the three of you. Your other sisters may have the pleasure of your company another day. You should go Saturday after luncheon."

Charlotte did not look as interested in the excursion as we were, but agreed anyway.

With easy topics out of the way, Elizabeth brought up a painful one. I was surprised she would bring it up with the group and not with Charlotte alone, but she probably had her reasons… or perhaps she did not. She was clever and we all loved her, but she did ridiculous things as often as any of the rest of us.

"Charlotte, I am wondering if you will allow our apparently adopted brother, **Mr**. Fitzwilliam a chance to come to know you."

It was not until that moment that I realized Lizzy had met the lunkhead precisely once, and had said half a dozen words to him at best. Naturally, they were a bit of an impertinent setdown at that. Mother had packed him off with Fitzwilliam before Lizzy woke up. We had all become so accustomed to each other that it was astounding to think of some of the intervals of acquaintance. Fitzwilliam and Lizzy seemed just about made for each other, but they had been in company for six weeks a year prior, and then less than a week at the time of the attack. I was not at all certain she even liked him, but she was mightily impressed by what he had done in her absence. She had met myself and Mother for a grand total of about two hours before she woke up in my old room next to Mother and apparently adopted her immediately.

Charlotte had known my cousin for a couple of hours, but had an aversion to him bordering on outright disgust. Charlotte never really minced words, much like someone else I know.

"I do not know, Lizzy. I know he is close to all of you, and I owe him at least more civility than I have so far, but it will be… difficult. Very difficult. I know it is monstrously unfair, but… but… but… he makes me _very_ uncomfortable."

Thus far, we all had our suppositions, but nobody was willing to ask Charlotte directly… well, almost nobody. Elizabeth surprised me by saying, "He is not Wickham, Charlotte."

Charlotte's head snapped up to lock on Lizzy's eyes, as if it had never occurred to her that someone may ascertain her secret. She stared at Elizabeth for a moment in alarm, and then her expression cleared, but not to one of comfort, but to an indifferent mask.

"I know not what you are talking about, Lizzy."

Elizabeth was not one to be daunted, and she relentlessly answered, "If it was not him, who was it Charlotte? You _do_ know, do you not?"

Charlotte was not one for tears, but if she was, they would be spilled now. She stared at Elizabeth for quite some time, before she began speaking almost in a whisper.

"Colonel Miller whipped him within an inch of his life, and sent him to die in France. I _watched_ it Lizzy. Eight and twenty lashes to the back, and one on each cheek. I watched each lash of the whip and felt nothing. Nothing at all… or at least I convinced myself of that. It was the only way I could prevent myself from keening in despair, or the desire to take my father's rifle and _kill_ him right on the pillory."

Elizabeth was sitting next to her and just took her hands, but said nothing while Charlotte worked through it in her mind. At length, Charlotte continued.

"Do you know he escaped? He managed to leave the cart somewhere before the ship and disappeared into the slums of London. _He is out there, Lizzy. He is doing the same thing to another woman… or perhaps to me again."_

As you would expect, we all gasped and cringed at the very idea that he was still loose in the world, and I saw Mother start rethinking our security.

Once the dam broke on Charlotte's words, they came rushing out in a torrent.

"He had a hood on. He had just attacked Becky and I sent Maria for help when he came at me from behind. He would have gotten away with it easily, but I managed to nearly scratch his eyeballs out. That was how the colonel found him. So you see…"

She looked at us all with a hard stare, and said, "He is alive somewhere in the world, and if he ever finds me, he will probably want revenge. A man like that will believe I have ruined his life."

Now mother looked positively worried, and I knew steps would be taken before the day was out to safeguard our girls. You might argue Charlotte could have told us sooner, but nobody would chastise her. We now knew we had an enemy in the world, a man with no conscience whatsoever, who knew Rosings and its environs well. I had no doubt Darcy had a swarm of men looking for him, and they would be tripping over Mother's men before the week was out.

We were all just absorbing this when Charlotte said yet another very distressing thing.

"I am not stupid. I know I am being entirely unreasonable… and unfair… and mean… and silly and… well, everything else that is terrible… but… every time I see the colonel, I see a combination of Wickham who took everything from me, and Colonel Miller who failed to tame him or protect Betsy and I. Colonel Miller probably turned a man who would have forgotten us entirely into a man who hates me to my very soul."

At this point, her reserve had completely cracked, and the tears I had been expecting finally arrived.

"I know your cousin is probably a good man despite his annoying tendencies, and I know he believes he esteems me. I am neither naïve nor deaf. But how can you possibly build a friendship from that? I know I owe him much better than I have given him, but… I do not know if I ever can, or even where to start."

We all just took in the enormity of what she said; myself in some shock; Mother with obvious calculation as to how to take care of her charge, and Charlotte just sitting there nearly spent.

Lizzy slid her chair around the small table to where she was practically sitting in Charlotte's lap, and started talking directly to her in a whisper we could barely hear.

"Charlotte, do you know what I thought of Fitzwilliam four days before the attack?"

Lizzy's attack seemed to work, as she said, "Can I guess it had not improved since the previous year."

Lizzy gave a grim chuckle, and said, "Quite the contrary. At that point, the initial assembly was the high point of our acquaintance."

Charlotte actually chuckled at that, but it was a grim sort of chuckle. Mother and I had no idea what she was talking about, but would be asking forthwith.

Lizzy continued, "I will tell you a secret…"

With that she eyeballed Mother and I and said, " _Which shall remain as such?_ "

We just nodded, and Lizzy continued.

"He lost a horseshoe and was walking near the parsonage when he overheard a conversation between myself and Bennet… of which you will _not_ be privy. He stopped and listened… eavesdropped really… to the whole thing… _all of it_."

We all gasped at the idea that the ever fastidious Darcy would stoop so low.

Elizabeth continued, "At that point, he would have had to improve considerably to get to the point he was at when he left Meryton."

Aunt asked, "What was that point."

Elizabeth just said, "I disliked him intensely. He…he…"

At that point, I could see there was much more of a story, and that I would have to drag it out of Darcy, as she was not going to finish.

"That was Friday. He approached me again on Monday and continued to dig a hole for himself. I went from merely disliking him to nearly hating him then, but he just kept at it. He was practically suicidal…"

We all knew about the knife at that point, and wondered if she was talking suicidal literally or figuratively. I believed from some clues that she may have been near a breaking point back then. We all waited in breathless anticipation for her to continue.

"Somehow in the next three days he became my confidant, and to this day, I have no idea why or how… just that it happened. He learned _all_ my secrets that had not been exposed by his ungentlemanly eavesdropping, and we became… almost… well, not friends I supposed. More and less at the same time, but I know not what."

None of us wanted to point out the obvious to her.

She said to Charlotte, "I did not just have an aversion to his manners Charlotte. _I nearly hated him. _I told him… well, I cannot go into it, but suffice it to say I nearly flayed him alive with censure more than once."

We all watched her in fascination, but then she looked at Charlotte.

"I still did not _like_ him the night of the attack, and when I see him, I may love him or hate him on sight, but he is far, far from the man I thought he was."

Now she was crying a bit herself, but she finished.

"Give the man a chance Charlotte. Let him earn your love… or your hate… or your indifference; but do not charge his accounts with another's debts. If you do not, you will spend the rest of your live looking over your shoulder, and no man will ever be good enough. All will be discarded without cause. Give him a chance, Charlotte. That is all I ask."

Charlotte was quite done with crying by now, and she stared at Elizabeth, saying, "I will Lizzy. Will you?"

We had all been acting as if her husband was dead already, and he would be soon enough even if one of us had to hurry him along; but that was not the only thing between Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam. I doubted any of us would ever know the true story, but we could at least hope.

Elizabeth managed to nod, which was all any of us could hope for.


	38. Phaeton

I have been giving some thought to the best inventions in history. I realize it is an odd occupation for someone like me, but be that as it may, it has been a way to while away some time. Some would think that _fire_ might be the best, and while I admit it did eventually allow me to live at Rosings instead of a cave, it might not be my very first choice. Similar arguments could be made for the old favorites, such as the wheel, writing, numbers, alphabets and the like and while I would not disdain one holding such an opinion, I could not agree with it. No, the best invention in the history of the world is most definitely _Anne de Bourgh's phaeton_. _That was it without a doubt_! While the others are important in the general scheme of things, the phaeton is the one device in all of Kent that can _make Lizzy less crazy_. Five weeks of forced inactivity and forced presence indoors had made her nearly impossible to live with. When Aunt Catherine said she could go out so long as her sisters could get her to the drive, I immediately went downstairs myself to ask a gardener about borrowing a wheelbarrow; although frankly, I had no idea how that would work on the stairs. Yes, it must be admitted that anything that made Lizzy bearable was considered a good thing.

Saturday afternoon boasted sunshine, early spring flowers, smooth roads and the three giddiest girls in the world. Now, there might be those who argue that at nine and twenty years, I could not lay claim to the term 'girl', but I am not to be dissuaded on this opinion. I can be as stubborn as Lizzy when I feel the need. It was a week before Easter, which meant a week before Richard and Darcy were to return; unless of course they got jumpy and came back early. I could well imagine the two of them deciding to return and hide out in the parsonage, sending scouts to see if the way was clear for an infiltration of Rosings.

As you can see, I have decided to _try_ to be fair, so I adopted **Mr**. Fitzwilliam's (as Lizzy calls him when she is being… well, Lizzy) given name, in an attempt to start over with him in my mind. I had decided that a fortnight prior when I noticed some trunks arriving, and a half hour later I saw a servant burning uniforms. Apparently, he was serious, so I could do no less. It was not as if I could send him away forever anyway.

For the other lunkhead in the duo (the Bennet sisters seem to be quite enamored with that word, but I have no idea if it applies to men universally or just our own two), I decided on the name 'Darcy' just because it seemed pointless to quit calling one man 'Fitzwilliam' only to have to dust the name off for the other gentleman. So, it seemed I was to make the attempt at reconciliation, and maybe even try to exert myself to be _friends_ with him.

Anne and Lizzy were even giddier than I was with our excursion, and we literally flew through Rosings on wings. Of course, since none of us were allowed to drive and the pony was being led by a groom older than my father, perhaps 'flew' is not the exact word, but it was quite good enough for Lizzy, and anything that made Lizzy less barking mad was good enough for the rest of us.

I sat in the middle of a seat that was really made for two, ostensibly so if one of the injured girls fell off, I would be able to decide whether to catch her or leave her to her fate. At the moment, I was thinking I would catch her but the impulse would have to be verified should the event occur.

Lizzy asked Anne an odd sort of question.

"Anne, has Aunt truly been trying to marry you off to Darcy for years?"

She had picked up on my habit of calling him 'Darcy', and soon we were all doing it; just like Kitty's sheep.

"Yes, I am afraid so."

Lizzy said, "Why?"

It seemed an odd question, and I thought perhaps Anne might never have actually thought about it, or thought about it beyond what it took to avoid the connection; but I was once again underestimating her.

Anne looked at us, and said, "You may not believe my conclusion. As you can imagine, it has occupied some time in my mind, and it is not obvious in the least."

Elizabeth said, " **HAH**! I am wrong about half the time on average, so it is either listen to your explanation, make up one of my own which is most likely wrong; or write down some suppositions and pull them from a hat. We have no hat unless you count Mr. Smith's cap, nor even parchment and quill, so it seems your opinion shall have to prevail, Anne."

Anne smiled, but still looked quit thoughtful, and said, "I never understood it until the… er… revelations the day you woke up Lizzy. Now I think I know the answer. **Fear**!"

That did not surprise us enough to make me have to decide which girl to try to save as they tumbled off the side of the phaeton, but it was a near thing. It was _not_ an explanation that sprang easily to mind with our formidable aunt.

I asked in consternation, " **Fear**?"

Anne said, "Yes, you are all accustomed to thinking of my mother as a fearless creature, but I now believe that she must have spent quite a lot of her life living in fear. It explains so much about her that never made sense before. Fear makes people do things they might not otherwise do in a hundred years."

Lizzy was thinking about fear, and now I was thinking about fear… not that the thought was ever very far from either of our minds.

I finally said, "I understand her living in fear… Lizzy and I both do, but how does that explain Darcy?"

Anne replied with more courage and more certainty than I would have expected for such a guess.

"Because she _trusts_ him! It is not about fortune, or combining the estates, or increasing the family's wealth and position, or keeping the estates in the family. She wanted me to marry him because he is quite possibly the only man she knows that she trusts absolutely and completely to harm neither me nor the estate that has been her life's work."

Elizabeth and I both sat there in surprise or shock, or perhaps just deep reflection, unable to say anything for a moment.

I finally exerted myself to ask, "What is your opinion, Lizzy?"

Lizzy looked like she had to think about it for a moment, but finally said, "He can be arrogant, rude, insufferable, caustic and selfishly disdainful of the feelings of others…"

At that point, I gave her a nudge to move past that onto the core of what she was trying to say, and she continued.

"… but he would _never_ allow someone close to him to be harmed should he be able to prevent it. Had he been pouring for Anne when Collins came in with the poker, he would have placed himself between us and harm without taking even half a breath to think about it… just as you did Anne."

Anne nodded in appreciation of the fact that Lizzy recognized her bravery enough to comment on it, but not to belabor it so much that it seemed like it was out of her usual character.

Lizzy continued, "I have been told he is a diligent master, caring for all under his purview with all the care that is possible. Mrs. Hewes opinion is not to be ignored, and she knew him since he was a small child. I think if any of his adopted sisters had any kind of need, there would no limit to how far he would go to protect them."

Lizzy was now for the first time in a while, or perhaps the first time in the past five minutes, thinking deeply about Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

At length, she said, "I do believe Aunt is right, Anne. He would have done quite nicely for you, and might yet!"

Anne shuddered at the very thought, and Lizzy had enough sense to not dig herself any deeper in that direction.

Anne looked at me quite carefully, and said, "Except for the arrogance, rudeness and… what was it Lizzy, _selfish disdain_ … I believe you will find Richard quite close to the same description, Charlotte.

All of a sudden, the phaeton was _not_ the best invention in history. In fact, it was of little more utility than the prison or the guillotine. I gave her my best disdainful stare, but the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh was not to be intimidated by the likes of me.

Lizzy saw the storm brewing, and thought to stop both of us in our tracks, probably mainly to keep us from talking about Darcy any more.

She brightly said, "Let us go to the parsonage. I would like to see how my poultry and my pig are prospering!"

We all agreed to the scheme immediately, and Mr. Smith was obliging enough to lead us hither. Anne made her best attempt to convince him to let her drive, but he was not to be obliging, which surprised us not at all. I suspect Anne did it just because the man found the whole exercise so amusing. He had known her since she was a child, and I suspected he looked on her as something of a favorite.

So, with the afternoon sun shining brightly, the flowers starting to show the spring bloom, Aunt's garden starting to take on the full beauty of the coming spring and summer; we started the half‑mile journey to the parsonage.


	39. Parsonage

_A/N: I will admit to more than the usual amount of trepidation on this chapter, since I've been working my way up to it for a while. Yes, you guessed it. Time for a visit to the parsonage. This is about 3 chapters by my average length, so let me know what you think. Wade_

* * *

 **Mr. Bingley surprised me!** No, surprise is not the right word, _shocked_ would be much better. I had given him an most exceedingly difficult task in desperation, and he had delivered. _Mr. Bingley had apparently done the impossible!_ It was extraordinary, and I felt a little bit bad about the deception and the risk to his person, but I would survive the feeling.

According to his letter, all was proceeding according to my instructions, so I simply sat waiting for him and his miscreant of a charge. It was late Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining outside and I could see the parlor quite well; but I had chosen a shaded and nearly invisible corner of the room to hide in. I thought it might not do for them to recognize me too quickly.

Wickham was only barely recognizable, with long hair, an unkempt beard and a generally disreputable appearance. The two whip marks on his cheeks certainly made his appearance more closely resemble his true character than his handsome appearance had. He was carrying a knife in one hand, and his companion was staying as far away from him as possible while still in the same room. Apparently he had _some_ sense.

When they approached the door to the dining room I was seated in, I decided it was time to make my presence known. I thought they might very well stop dead cold with the right sound, and it need not be a very loud one, so I simply cocked the hammer back on my pistol.

Both men froze on the spot, much as I had hoped they would. I knew not what Wickham expected, but I doubt this was it. They could no doubt see the barrel of the pistol, which was pointed directly at Wickham's gut. Since they had stopped ever so politely, I decided it was time to introduce myself. I very carefully got up from the chair without allowing the pistol to waver, and walked around the table.

Both men gasped in surprise at seeing me. I knew they both expected Mr. Darcy, but alas, all they got was poor little me.

I walked a few steps closer, and said, "Welcome, gentlemen. I have been expecting you."

Mr. Bingley was still staring, as he had not quite started putting all the pieces together; but his basic politeness would not allow him to stand there with his mouth hanging open, so he gave the appropriate greeting.

 _" Mrs. Bennet. This is… unexpected."_

Both men were clearly shocked to see me, and I suspect I looked just a touch mad, which was close to the truth. I was not overly worried about Mr. Bingley. He had courage; you had to give him that; but he was not a viscous man and he would not harm me or any other more or less innocent for the world.

Wickham on the other hand, started pulling the knife forward, so I thought I might dissuade him. Once I was about four or five paces from him, I lowered the pistol until it was pointing at his most prized possession and said, "I will thank you rid yourself of that knife, Mr. Wickham. I am no marksman, but I have fired well over fifty rounds in this pistol in the past several months, and I doubt I could miss you from this distance. Will you choose to die a few minutes or days hence from festering wounds lying on this floor, or will you live to fight another day."

He looked at me appraisingly, but he could follow the direction of the pistol as well as I could, and the conclusion was inescapable. Somewhat to his credit, or more likely to his showoff nature, he threw the knife a good half-dozen yards to bury itself in the far wall, without ever moving his hands to a place where I could not see them.

I watched him most carefully, and said, "I am afraid I must detain you here for a bit Mr. Wickham. We have some business to conclude. Mr. Bingley, I will oblige you to lift the bar on that cellar door behind you. Mr. Wickham, I must ask you to cool your heels down there for some time."

Wickham, ever the gallant one said, "I think I shall not, Mrs. Bennet. I have very little faith you will not deliver me to Darcy or his cousin or the militia; and it seems unlikely you will actually shoot me when it comes right down to it. I think I shall make my stand here."

I simply stared at him long enough for the man to start squirming. He knew I was not really as strong as I appeared to be, and I am quite certain he was underestimating my resolve, but on this matter, I was not to be gainsaid. It did not take that much strength to pull a trigger, and I had neatly boxed myself into a position where I had no other choices. That had seemed a good idea at the time, and quite possibly it was the only way to force myself to do what needed to be done. I felt myself shaking, but made sure that it was not visible to either of the men. It would not do to kill one of them through sheer nervousness.

I simply said, "My life may already be forfeit, Mr. Wickham but I believe I will not mind taking you with me."

I stared him down until he started truly squirming, making sure to show a touch of desperation in my face, then continued.

"Mr. Bingley, if you please… the door. Mr. Wickham, you have until he lifts the bar to decide whether you want to die today or see if Lady Luck will favor you once again. Come now, Mr. Wickham… you are not afraid of the lady are you?"

He said, "Which lady?"

I just chuckled and waved the gun a bit more and said, "A man like you does not fear _any_ lady."

I waved the pistol around a bit more, looked across the barrel and made certain it was pointing _exactly_ where I wanted it to be pointed. Mr. Bingley had followed my instructions, and the door now stood open. Having little choice in the matter, Wickham did as he was told. He backed over to the door slowly, looking frantically all the while for an escape while watching the point of the pistol. I simply followed him, keeping my pistol pointed carefully where I wanted it, while never coming close enough for him to be confident he could accost me or turn tail without receiving a bullet. He no doubt decided he would rather die on the fields of France in a few months than the floor of this parsonage right now. His life's history probably convinced him he was invincible, and could escape retribution forever. He eventually stepped into the stairwell.

I bid him walk down a half dozen steps, while I prepared to slam the door. I had sent Mr. Bingley to the other side of the room with a glance and a wave of my head, and the gentleman was sensible enough to go along with the scheme.

When Wickham reached a small landing halfway down the stairs, I said, "Mr. Wickham, do you see that fire poker right beside you?"

He looked at it in some growing alarm wondering what in the world I could be talking about, but eventually answered, "Yes".

I said, "I suggest you take it with you."

He started looking alarmed, and I raised my voice to the one I used to call Lizzy in from the back fields. I was a mother, and I could be heard at any distance I wanted to be heard when it suited me.

"Mr. Collins, there is a man come to kill you. I suggest you defend yourself."

I was rewarded by the scream of a true madman, wound up for defense or revenge or mayhem, and was rewarded by a corresponding shout from another throat and only a few moments later, the sound of iron on iron, before I closed the door and carefully barred it.

* * *

Mr. Bingley was looking decidedly sheepish, but making no move to threaten me in any way, so I simply said, "Come sit with me and have some tea, Mr. Bingley. We have much to discuss. You have no need to fear for me, nor for your soul. This is all my doing, all shall be on my accounts. All you have done is help a man go exactly where he wished to go. You are innocent of any crime, sin or dishonor."

I very carefully and obviously pointed the pistol in another direction, and returned the hammer to a safe position. No matter how much I needed it, I had hated every minute I had that infernal thing in my hand; but that had not stopped me from learning how to shoot. Old retired soldiers could be very useful, and my brother was a much stronger and more resourceful man than anybody gave him credit for… which oddly enough was part of his strategy as an attorney, apparently.

I shushed Mr. Bingley towards the table just like I would with a recalcitrant child, and went over to the teapot that still had abundant reserves, as I had made it not ten minutes before the men came in. The entire episode with Wickham had taken well less than ten minutes start to finish, and I was satisfied with the result.

I poured out some tea for both of us, and even rummaged around in my bag for some biscuits I had purchased in the village.

Mr. Bingley flinched when we heard a few more shouts and the clang of iron on iron, followed by the sound of something heavy falling on the ground, but I simply said, "Do not fret, Mr. Bingley. They cannot escape that cellar. Lizzy's sergeant was quite careful with it. They shan't be interrupted from their sport, and my Jane made sure the curate, the sergeant and Mrs. MacDonald, are well away for the day. I am afraid though, that I deceived her as thoroughly as I deceived you, so she has no idea why; and I daresay she will be most vexed with me when she learns."

He looked like he was about to argue, or perhaps regret his part in the deception, or perhaps lose his biscuits, but I wanted to set his mind at ease.

"Mr. Bingley, would you feel an overwhelming need to interfere or be worried about the outcome if Wickham was in France fighting some French farmer's son who had done you no harm and had no more idea why they were fighting than Wickham did?"

He had to reflect that not all life and death circumstances were as simple as they seemed.

"No, Mrs. Bennet, I would not. It may sound vile, but in that case, I might wish the Frenchman good fortune."

I knew I liked this boy… well, truth be told that was not quite it. He had been a boy when he abandoned my Jane last year, and a boy had sat in his townhouse for most of the last year, but he had taken up the yoke when it was placed on his shoulder. It mattered not that it was placed on his shoulder by someone other than who he thought it was, and that I had used him as abominably as Wickham used others. The burden had been placed, he had acted honorably, and he had done the deed. No, this was not a boy any more. This was a man.

I said, "Think of me as a conquering army, Mr. Bingley. I do apologize for the deception and the risk to your person. I quite admire you."

He looked like he had a dozen or a hundred questions, but settled on, "How?"

I said, "You know I am an inveterate gossip and busybody, I am certain you must have seen that?"

He simply nodded, although it looked like he was uncertain if he thought his best chance of coming out with his hide intact was in agreeing with me or disagreeing. I let that go. He would understand soon enough. He was understandably concerned about my character as well, but he would survive that too.

I continued, "It was easy enough to get some of Mr. Darcy's letters. Servants like to save things that should be burned, and you left quite abruptly last year, leaving my brother and I _very_ angry, and many of your servants without occupation. Did you ever learn about Lydia's trials with that… that…"

I could not really even finish the thought, so I simply nodded toward the door and he caught my meaning.

"Wickham?"

I nodded, and said, "Yes. She was a foolish girl and he took ruthless advantage of it. I am afraid I did not teach her very well, and her father taught her not at all. He would have ruined her and all the family if Mary had not saved her the night of your ball… with no help from either of her parents, I might add."

We heard another scream from the cellar so apparently the two were still about their business, but it did not really matter.

Bingley asked, "Were the things you said in the letter true, Mrs. Bennet? The things about Miss Elizabeth… I mean, Mrs. Collins? Was that man down there really that vile?"

I wondered how wise it had been to tell him the truth, but could think of nothing else that would have convinced him to act. He had to know the stakes, and to tell the truth I was not that concerned if he met difficulty. At the time, I was still angry about his abandonment of Jane, and my brother thought he would be satisfied with punishment on Wickham or Bingley since he did not hold either in any particular esteem. However, in the end, Mr. Bingley had managed against all odds to redeem himself.

"I believe so, Mr. Bingley. I took Mr. Darcy's letters a long time ago when we had to bribe some of your servants to keep quiet. I did not know all that had happened until my husband sent the rest of my daughters away, but one of them still writes… and she does so with more candor than I deserve."

He said, "I am astounded, Mrs. Bennet… and quite impressed."

I could own that the entire thing seemed quite farfetched, so I said.

"I must have seemed the silliest and most ignorant mother in the world. Am I correct, Mr. Bingley? I will ask for your candor, sir."

He just laughed a bit and said, "Not the most, certainly."

I had to admire his sincerity, if not his sense.

He asked, "Can you tell me how you came to this… position, Mrs. Bennet. How did you even know all of this?"

That was an entirely good question. How had I come to this place at this time? I thought to begin with _how_ it came about, and perhaps we would have time for _why_ later; or perhaps not.

"I _suspected_ something was very wrong last spring."

I wondered just how much I could share with this man, and eventually decided he may as well know it all since he had risked certainly his health, and perhaps his life in my service.

"Did you know my husband and I forced Lizzy into the marriage?"

"I assumed so, since Miss Elizabeth could barely stand to be in the man's presence."

So, he either paid attention, or more likely he just noticed what was painfully obvious to everyone but me.

"I thought she would adapt. I thought she was strong enough and clever enough to work the man. I thought she had no idea the desperation she was facing if none of the girls married, as seemed likely after the ball. I thought she would work it out so she only spent a few minutes each day in his company, and soon enough she would have a babe to occupy her."

I looked at the man across from me intently, and admitted my ultimate shame, "I was wrong. So very very wrong, and she paid the price for it… is _still paying_."

He seemed confused by that and said, "I must ask Mrs. Bennet, was your intent tonight to hurry Mr. Collins' appointment with the Reaper, as seems likely?"

"Yes"

He asked, "So why ask me to bring Wickham?"

That was a very good question. I finally answered, "Three reasons, really."

I looked to make sure he was paying attention, as if he could do anything else.

"Of course there was his attempt to ruin all my daughters, which demands some retribution and some effort to protect the rest of the women of the world."

He nodded the good sense of that idea.

"Then by some odd twist of fate, he is the next distant heir to Longbourn. If Collins should die, he would inherit; and my husband's demise will be sooner than anybody thinks. Weeks or months at best."

That shocked him, so I let him have a minute to think through all the particulars, before he just nodded.

I added, "So you see, I had _two_ miscreants who were fit only for the gallows but unlikely to actually go there. I did not think I had the courage to do what must be done until I saw Wickham being whipped. At that moment, I knew it must have been for one of the girls in Meryton, and felt perhaps part of that account should be laid at my feet. Charlotte Lucas left abruptly a month later, so it was not difficult to work it out. I had you bring him here to give him punishment for what he did, and to save my family's estate, but I really brought him mostly to deal with Mr. Collins, since I do not truly have the courage to face the noose myself for either of them."

The man looked pale at the coldness of the calculation, but after a moment he gave that little lopsided grin that Jane had loved so much and said, "I imagine I should feel guilty about my part in this affair, but I find myself curiously disinclined towards it."

Well, that was a surprise. Perhaps the boy had grown even more than I thought.

He looked at me carefully, and said, "Presuming you are as you claimed, 'silly and ignorant', how did you manage to accomplish this?"

That was a very good question that I sometimes wondered myself, but he deserved an answer.

"I was desperate, and I have a brother that was willing to help. People sometimes look down at my brother because he is an attorney or because his wife is silly and flighty… just like me… but he is a clever man. He helped me, but the scheme was mine and he shall not be blamed. He found a man that could write the letters, and I told him what to write. My brother helped me here and there, but did not know quite what I had planned. He still does not know the whole of it and probably would not approve if he did; but he was happy enough to see that either you or Mr. Wickham came to some mischief."

He simply nodded, perhaps for the first time realizing that Wickham was not the only possible intended victim.

He finally said, "I am still confused, Mrs. Bennet. That is the end of the story, but where is the beginning? How did you come to force Miss Elizabeth? How did you come to choose this _particular_ way to solve it? How did it start?"

I liked this man more and more. I heard another big thump from the direction of the cellar as if someone had bumped up against the door, so judged we still had some time.

I took a deep breath, and said, "Have you ever been ridiculed every day of your life, Mr. Bingley?"

I rudely did not even wait for an answer, before continuing, "Of course, you have. Your sister seems like a woman who is relentless. Is that correct?"

Now he just looked pale, and quite surprised I of all people noticed, but eventually nodded.

I told him, "We share that, Mr. Bingley. My husband thought me silly and ignorant, but judged it better to ridicule me and my daughters than to try to help or educate us. If someone you love keeps telling you that you are stupid and unworthy, eventually you start believing it. Twenty or more years of ridicule can strip away what good sense you have, and I fear I did not have an abundance to start with. Are you surprised I know that about myself, for I find that I am myself."

He nodded in sympathy I thought, and I had another thought.

I asked, "And do you know what it is like to be _afraid_ , Mr. Bingley… I do not mean just worried, I mean truly terrified?"

His flinch was telling. I am certainly not the cleverest woman that ever lived, but he was not the least bit subtle in his reaction.

I looked at him a bit more gently, and asked, "Who was it? Your father?"

He simply nodded, unable to speak.

I asked, "What was it? The belt? The Rod? Worse?"

He seemed unable to speak so I gave him some time, and he finally said, "All of those."

That actually made sense. I had not put the pieces together before, but they were all clear as if I were reading them in a book.

"Did your sisters get the same treatment?"

He nodded, but then clarified, "They did… at first."

"What did your father think of your demeanor, Mr. Bingley? Did he like your amiable nature and friendliness? Were you always like that?"

Now he snorted in derision or surprise, and said, "Hardly! _He hated it._ He was a harsh and implacable man, in business and at home. He thought it showed weakness, which he detested."

Now I asked, "When did you start behaving thus?"

"Perhaps when I had maybe twelve years or so. It infuriated him, and he let me have the full brunt of his displeasure, double or treble what I received before."

Coming to the crux of the matter, I asked, "When that happened, did he keep beating your sisters?"

Now he looked shocked that I had guessed the truth. I was not as clever as Lizzy. I had just been guessing, but hit close to the mark by accident.

He looked thoughtful, and then said, "I believe I kept it up because he quit beating my sisters. Instead, he just ridiculed them."

I stared at him with that revelation for a moment, and finally asked, "You deliberately provoked him with your manners, did you not? To protect your sisters? You kept at it until the mask became permanent?"

He nodded, as if finally understanding something that had puzzled him for some time, but I was not done with him yet.

As gently as I could, I said, "You do realize that by doing so, you prevented him from hitting your sisters, but you also, through no fault of your own but your desire to protect your beloved sisters; _encouraged him to teach them to hate and ridicule everyone else?"_

That was a thought that had clearly never occurred to him, as in truth it had never occurred to me either, but it explained so much so simply. He started trembling as I imagined one memory after another must have flitted through his mind.

His tea was forgotten sitting on the table as he ruminated for some time, and eventually said, "I believe you may have the right of it, Mrs. Bennet."

Yes, this man would do! He would do very well, if Jane gave him another chance. Perhaps she would or perhaps she would not, but it would not hurt if she could see the man I was seeing.

As gently as I could, I said, "Now that you see, you _do _understand it is your obligation to _try _to teach your sister _not_ to hate. Do not blame yourself, as she has had many years to learn the lesson herself, but you must make the attempt. Do not distress yourself if it cannot be done, but I believe you owe it to yourself to try."

I thought he might be thinking on that thought for some time.

Eventually, he nodded to himself, and said, "I will try, Mrs. Bennet. I shall give it my best. I have already surprised myself, so perhaps I will again. It never even occurred to me before, but I thank you."

I said quite honestly, "Do not thank me sir. I only stumbled upon it by accident. I am not so very clever myself."

He straightened himself, and said, "Perhaps not Mrs. Bennet, but you are not hidden away in your bookroom when your family is threatened, are you? You may succeed or fail, but at least you are here in the arena."

I chuckled at that. I liked this man more and more.

He nodded a bit more at a private thought, then abruptly asked, "You asked if I was ever afraid, Mrs. Bennet. _Why did you ask?"_

He deserved an honest answer, so I said, "I have five daughters Mr. Bingley. I have been afraid for years that I could not get them well settled, and they might all end up in the gutters or the hedgerows or worse. Then I mostly drove them there myself. Fear does strange things to you, Mr. Bingley. Being afraid is terrible. Being ridiculed for it is even worse. I deserved much of what I got, but certainly not all of it."

I shuddered and continued, "Even with that though, there was no excuse, no justification, nothing I can say that makes what I did to Lizzy anything but terrible. I was just being selfish then. I deserve whatever censure she chooses to send me, and I doubt very much that I will ever be able to tell her how much I regret it."

The young man reached across the table, and took both of my hands in his, and just held them for a few minutes without saying anything. I had to admit, he was my very favorite man right at that moment. Perhaps, his story with my family was not complete yet, but only time would tell.

A few minutes later, he sniffed the air, and said, "Is that smoke. I believe those two…"

He glanced at the cellar door, before continuing.

"…may have set the place afire."

I just laughed and said, "I certainly hope so. I would not wish to have wasted the oil I spilled on the stairs. This parsonage is the place of Lizzy's nightmare. I would have it be gone. Lady Catherine can afford to build a new one."

Now he looked a bit alarmed, not that he cared about a parsonage.

I stood up and said, "Come Mr. Bingley. It will take a good quarter hour at least for the fire to escape the cellar. Would you mind walking me out and then releasing Lizzy's poultry and her pig? I care much more for that pig than I do for the two so-called men in the cellar."

He just nodded as if it were an everyday occurrence, and asked, "Where will you go, Mrs. Bennet?"

I just nodded to him, and said, "My husband is not the best husband, but he is still mine, and he is abed more often than not. I will return to Longbourn. He will not live much longer, and then I shall see. I…"

He just raised one eyebrow at me in question, and I told him my shameful little secret.

"It is well known I set a fine table and overspent my allowance for years. What is not known is that not _all_ of the money went to tradesmen. I have saved some myself, and I believe I may be able to live simply for several years. Perhaps I will take your sister's place in Scarborough."

He laughed and said, "My aunt would welcome you with open arms, Mrs. Bennet."

Then he offered me his arm, I took my husband's pistol and put it back in my work basket, and left the parsonage quite satisfied with my day's work. I looked at a clock on the way out, and it seemed I had a post coach coming in a couple of hours.

I saw the smoke coming from the cellar door, becoming thicker by the minute and tried to see if I felt any remorse. It turned out, I felt remorse aplenty for what I did to Lizzy, but nothing whatsoever to the filth lying in the cellar.

True to his word, Mr. Bingley released all of Lizzy's animals and drove them off into the path towards Rosings, then gallantly escorted me to the lane in front of the parsonage where a carriage would park if it visited.

I asked him, "Please, if it would not trouble you sir, would you stay here to make sure some fool does not endanger himself looking for people in the parsonage."

He got a little bit of a faraway look, probably remembering that Jane was but a half‑mile away and perhaps not entirely out of his reach.

He bowed, and said, "With pleasure. It has been an honor, Mrs. Bennet."

I left him standing pensively just as I started seeing flames come up the wall, and by the time I turned the corner where I could not see the parsonage anymore, there was a good amount of smoke billowing up into the sky, and I welcomed it. Perhaps a phoenix would arise from those flames… or perhaps, I was just a silly old woman. Only time would tell, but for myself, I felt fully content with my day's labors for the first time since the midwife told me Lydia was my fifth daughter.


	40. Reunion

_A/N: I see you're still here, so I guess your head didn't explode with that last chapter. If you're wondering, I don't actually know where that idea came from. I had several ideas for how Lizzy would manage to solve her problems, and the idea of Mrs. B. didn't occur to me about a week ago. Before that, I was planning to have her get help from Lady Catherine. I usually just stuff my characters in a pressure cooker and see what happens. I hope you like it… although what's not to like about a cage match between Wickham and Collins in a burning parsonage? Of course, they weren't the only ones on the way to the parsonage, so let's see if the slowest phaeton in Kent has managed to arrive._

 _So as penance for springing that last chapter on you, here's a twofer for tonight._

 _Wade_

* * *

We must have been only quarter mile or so from the parsonage when we saw the smoke, and once that was visible there was no amount of pleading or cajoling that could induce Mr. Smith to move another yard towards the fire. It was all any of us could do to get him to stop in the lane in the spot where the smoke had first become visible and not turn around and return to Risings instantly. I could not in truth blame the man; I would not want to tell my Aunt Catherine _I_ had taken three ladies under her protection, two of them barely able to walk let alone run, to the site of a fire with a pony attached to their phaeton that did not even have reigns. No sir! I would not want to do that, so I had to admit that even though it was ostensibly my home that looked like it was burning, other than my concern for my poultry and my pig, I did not particularly mind. I happened to know that the Sergeant and Mrs. MacDonald along with the curate were having tea with Jane…

That thought stopped me in my tracks, not that I was actually making any tracks in the first place, but I had to admit it was on the unusual side for Jane to invite those particular personages to tea on a Saturday afternoon. I had been practically frantic (well, according to Charlotte I was far past that state, but Charlotte always did overreact to every little thing) when we went out for our ride in Anne's phaeton, and may not have noticed any peculiar behavior, but it was _quite_ suspicious.

Before we could really make any sort of decision, including the decision to get out of the middle of the road before we were run over by another coach, the inevitable happened. We were not _actually_ overrun by Darcy's carriage, but it seemed a frightening thing for a moment. They had clearly seen the smoke before I did, and the two lunkheads were probably on the way to see if they could be the dashing hero types and rescue a helpless damsel in distress… although I had to admit that the idea of Mrs. MacDonald née Hewes as a damsel was almost as funny as the idea of her in distress. I thought it more likely one of the gentlemen would run into a burning building to save her, and she would end up carrying them out.

Of course, those thoughts only frittered through my head for a moment at most before we were suddenly accosted by the expected gentlemen, a full week early. I had to give it to Darcy. He had defied me by a week, but I was surprised it was not a fortnight or a month, and was not as displeased with his debetrothed as you might have thought.

They both approached the carriage, Fitzwilliam running up to me with the biggest grin I had ever seen on a face since Mr. Bingley first saw Jane back in the bloom of young love, or whatever that emotion was, and I would not have been at all surprised if he jumped on the phaeton, threw Charlotte to the ground and gave me a big hug. As I said, my head was more prone to being addled than usual, and my flights of fancy more pronounced since my brush with death; who truth be told had no sense of humor whatsoever. The gentleman settled for more or less sensible speech.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Let me look at you! I am so happy to see you well and whole. Nothing in this life can ever match the pleasure I am feeling at this moment. Please tell me you are well. Please, be well Elizabeth!"

I was nearly overwhelmed by the pure emotion of the address, not to mention the repetitiousness, and I matched his exuberance with my own reckless torrent of words.

"Fitzwilliam"

He did not seem to mind my brevity, because I believe I gave him the very first truly heartfelt smile in our long rocky history. I was not even certain I _liked_ him at our last supper, but my sisters had told me all that he had _done_ , and all that he _would_ do, and as far as I was concerned, he had earned all of my smiles and more. There was no longer any question about whether I liked him or not. No question whatsoever.

I glanced away from him to see his cousin, the other lunkhead as my sisters called him approaching the carriage, and exhibiting his usual over‑exuberant chattiness he was famous for.

"Anne. Elizabeth. Miss Lucas. I am overjoyed to see you all well."

I looked at Charlotte to see if she was sharpening her knives, but she just looked at him neutrally. I was so excited I practically screamed… neutrality we could work with. Neutrality was _such_ an improvement.

I turned back to Fitzwilliam, who I found could never quite be 'Darcy' when he was standing in front of me, and reckoned that much more of his behavior over the previous week… well, the previous week of our acquaintance anyway, made more sense than it had before. In fact, nearly everything he had ever done made some kind of sense.

I was thinking of that, but then I remembered the smoke. I was not overly concerned about the parsonage, and I knew the gentlemen had been distracted for the moment, but neither they nor I could just stand there without knowing what was happening.

"Fitzwilliam, might you help me down please? I am still not quite back to being the _great walker_ I once was."

At the reference, but smiled like a boy who was wandering through his favorite glen, next to his favorite trout stream and unaccountably found a pie lying on his favorite stump. When I reached for a hand, he simply grabbed me around the waist and lifted me down like a child. I was all skin and bones at the time, so I doubt it was that much of a strain for him, but I reached over and put my hands on his shoulders anyway just to be sure.

When he set me on my feet facing him, as gently as a breeze, I felt somewhat unsteady… yes, that was it… I was truly unsteady, and _that_ was the reason I tipped forward to end up with my head on his chest. Yes that was it… I was quite near to vapors. We were all lucky I did not fall on the ground to be trampled by the pony.

I may have leaned on the man a bit longer than propriety strictly allowed, but I reckoned that everyone present was trustworthy enough to keep my secret, and it was certainly not as if I had to worry about compromise.

I vaguely wondered how Charlotte was doing, but it took perhaps a moment to come back to myself and ask. "Fitzwilliam, would you help me these last few hundred yards. I am afraid I am not what I was, and I would like to make sure my animals are released and nobody is injured, or worse yet doing something stupid to save that horrid building."

I expected an argument, or an order to return to Rosings while the manly men did the manly man duties, but he surprised me… as usual.

"It would be my privilege Elizabeth. Anne, would you be willing to return to Rosings so you can tell your mother and sisters what is happening. They will see the smoke soon and I would not have them worried unnecessarily."

I thought Anne would argue too, but she simply answered, "Yesl. I will be back in a half hour though if you will convince Mr. Smith."

Fitzwilliam simply said, "No, I shall not importune the man. Go in my carriage and my driver will take you to Rosings, and then bring you back if your mother allows it."

The insufferable girl gave him a pout worthy of a thirteen year old Lydia, but agreed to his scheme.

Fitzwilliam said, "Miss Lucas, will you be joining us at the parsonage or returning to Rosings? You are of course as welcome in the carriage."

"I will be joining you if you do not mind."

Then she completely surprised all of us by saying, " **Mr**. Fitzwilliam, might you assist me."

I knew perfectly well that Charlotte could have jumped from the phaeton and landed on her feet with the greatest of ease, so it was clear she was either determined to give the poor man a chance, or she was simply doing what she needed to prevent the Bennet sisters from hounding her to death for the next week. A betting woman would have been inclined to the latter explanation, but maybe she was relenting just a little bit, or perhaps she had just finally realized that the gentleman had never _actually_ done her the least bit of harm.

"It would be my greatest pleasure, Miss Lucas."

He was perhaps too sincere and smooth with the manners, but I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

Fitzwilliam seemingly reluctantly let go of my waist, and I seemingly reluctantly released my hands from the lapels of his waistcoat where they had landed. He offered his arm and I wrapped both of my hands around it. I thought I should step lightly because he looked like one misstep or tiny little stumble would have him carrying me, which would be very undignified, but… not as unpleasant as one might think. Apparently, it would not be the first time he had carried me.

* * *

We arrived in front of the parsonage a merry party. Charlotte surprisingly had her hand on the crook of Richard's arm and they had even had what appeared to be some light conversation in the few hundred yards. I had both hands wrapped around Fitzwilliam's arm in a most unconventional and probably undignified manner, but he did not seem to mind. I had not had much chance to converse with him on the way since I was still weak as a kitten and was putting all of my efforts into not stumbling.

The path allowed me to see that someone had released all of my animals already so they were not a concern. We continued onto the parsonage where we found the must unbelievable sight of the day. Seeing the parsonage in flames was not it, as that was just fire. What shocked me was seeing the last man in the world I expected to see, _Mr. Bingley_.

Something about the man seemed altered, or perhaps my perceptions were altered. Whether I was any better at understanding others or worse was hard to say, but Mr. Bingley seemed more… more… well, the only word I could come up with was _solid_. He was standing tall, his hands clasped behind his back just watching the parsonage burn like Nero watching Rome when he heard our approach, and he looked like he had grown in stature since I last saw him, but I could not hazard a guess as to why.

He looked at us, and a smile graced his features. Even his smile seemed more solid than what the amiable man of Netherfield had sported. This one looked perhaps more _genuine_ than what he had back a year ago, as if the old one were simply a habit. I wondered what had happened to the man in the previous year, but that was nothing compared to the absolute burning curiosity I carried about just _what in the blazes he was doing here_.

He bowed, obviously acquainted with us all, and said, "Good afternoon Mrs. Collins. Miss Lucas. Darcy. Richard. I am quite happy to see you all."

He said it all as if it was not incongruous in the least. Neither Charlotte nor I were very inclined to curtsies and the two lunkheads were staring at him as if he had somehow landed on a griffon to hop down in front of us, but he just smiled and carried on.

Fitzwilliam said, "Bingley, I was not expecting you here."

The man just started laughing nearly uncontrollably for a moment while we all stared at him, and he said, "Yes, Darcy. It turns out you _did not expect me_ , much to my surprise."

Well, that did not make any sense at all, so maybe if we just waited patiently, it all would eventually.

He looked at me and said, "Mrs. Collins. You are looking well. I understand you have been very ill, and I am most grateful for your recovery."

He actually seemed just a bit touched, and I swayed a little bit on my feet with just one surprise too many for the day. Fitzwilliam either felt concern for me, or was looking for a convenient excuse, so he shifted over to where he was standing right behind me, and grabbed my waist lightly with both hands for good measure. I intended to slap those treasonous hands away from my person… very soon, in fact almost immediately.

Mr. Bingley looked at me in concern, and then said the oddest thing.

"Mrs. Collins, normally I would start this phrase with the words _'I regret to inform you'_ , but I cannot work up that level of respect for the common forms, since I do not regret it in the least. I will just say it outright. You are now a widow. Mr. Collins was in the parsonage, and you will find his bones in the cellar."

I gasped in surprise, not at the fact that Collins was dead… but that Mr. Bingley could be standing here telling me with no more ceremony than he would use to describe a recent horse race. It was just too odd. Too odd by at least double, and I did not _precisely_ feel faint or unsteady or moved by the death we had all been just waiting for. I did _not_ swoon or fall over or demonstrate any of the other weaknesses our sex is frequently accused of. I simply did not move or oppose him when Fitzwilliam pulled me back against his chest and wrapped his arms around my waist. I must admit, since we are clearly keeping confidence here, that I did not find it in the least bit distressing. He was doing what was right… seeing to my comfort and security, just like he would with any of his sisters. Yes, I was quite certain of that.

"Mr. Bingley, you seem to know a lot about the parsonage. Tell me, will we find any other bones in there."

The man looked… well, odd was the only expression I can come up with, weak as it is. He said, "Weeellll… There is also a man you may remember from Hertfordshire… a Mr. Wickham."

At that point, I was absolutely dead certain that I did not regret Fitzwilliam's forwardness, because I may well have swayed on my feet or even swooned at that news. He simply pulled me closer, and nobody challenged it. George Wickham… dead! Except for Longbourn, all of my problems in the world were floating up to the sky in a haze of smoke.

It only took a few seconds of selfish reflection before I wondered how Charlotte was taking the news, and I was thoroughly shocked to see her standing with a dazed expression on her face, but straight as an elm tree swaying in the breeze. Richard looked like he would give his right arm to emulate Fitzwilliam holding me so tightly, but probably judged that grabbing Charlotte at the moment might indeed cost that. It took a moment for me to see a bit of the old Charlotte peeping out of the cloud she had been carrying all this time, and her face broke into the biggest grin I thought I had ever seen. It was if the cloud she had been enveloped in had spit a bold of lightning and disappeared. She was free… and come to think of it, I was too!

I burst into a bit of a giggling fit right then. I was completely free. I was at long last free, and so was Charlotte, but I came back to myself after a few moments of enjoying the sensation. I thought it was completely unfair that Mr. Bingley got all the fun, so thought I might have a bit myself, since I had my own surprises.

"Mr. Bingley, I have two matters I would like to clarify, if you could oblige me."

He just grinned, a bit more of the Bingley grin we were accustomed to, and replied, "Your servant, Madam."

I giggled just a bit at that along with him, and said, "The first matter is simply a clarification of address. I have not been Mrs. Collins for a fortnight, nor am I now a widow."

I must admit that was the most diverting trick I had ever played on the lunkheads, and I thought I might have to hold Fitzwilliam up, which might be harder than one would think. He naturally yelled, "What!"

I craned my neck around to where I could see him, then got him to release me so I could stand on my own two feet facing him, and said, "You and Richard are not the only lunkheads here. I must join you in the distinction. Aunt Catherine dragged the story out me with her fingernails, and just laughed at how silly we all were with such an obvious solution at hand."

He looked a bit confused, then I said, "Do you remember what I told Bennet, just before we got to the er… instruments?"

He thought about it a bit then just smiled like a schoolboy, and said, "How long did it take her to get the archbishop here?"

"Five days"

He just laughed aloud, while Richard and Charlotte asked, "What do you mean, Lizzy?"

I belatedly wondered how this news would affect Charlotte, but it was far too late to worry about that now. I said, "I neither consented nor consummated the marriage, so it was annulled… as if it never happened. I am back to being Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

She took it with an even bigger smile than the last one. Charlotte was someone who knew how to be happy when it was time to be happy, and I was not entirely convinced she would not find her own way to happiness one day sooner rather than later.

Once I was happy with her condition, I asked, "So tell me Mr. Bingley, _why exactly are you standing outside a burning parsonage in Kent?"_

I was surprised but not entirely shocked to hear another voice join the discussion.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley. Do please enlighten us."

Mr. Bingley looked at the newcomer with an expression somewhere between joy and fear, but straightened his spine and prepared to answer.


	41. Resolve

I arrived with my sisters somewhat out of breath after running the half-mile from Rosings like Lydia's famous hoydens (Lydia loves her analogies), only to find the strangest tableau I had ever seen. There were so many outrageous things present I could not even begin to list them. We had all found a last-minute appreciation for decorum, so we walked the last hundred yards or so silently, and heard the entire exchange before any of the players even became aware we were present.

Lizzy in the arms of Fitzwilliam was not as shocking as you might think, since it was a truth universally acknowledged by every female in Rosings except one that it was inevitable… eventually. Regardless of her surname, she was still a Bennet born and bred, so a bit more stubbornness was only to be expected. Of course, the first thing she did is revert to her previous surname, but certainly _not_ her previous dislike of our adopted brother, much to my satisfaction. I was certain things would work out exactly as they should between the two. It was only a matter of time and stubbornness.

She had not bothered to share the news of her annulment with any of us, including the _broken sisters_ judging by Charlotte's look. I would have been most vexed with her, but I could see the sense in it. There was only one person truly entitled to be the first to learn of the news, and he was standing less than a pace in front of her, just smiling enigmatically, the rest of us forgotten.

Charlotte had the biggest smile I had ever seen grace her face after hearing of the demise of Wickham. She even seemed like she would happily forego the pleasure of dispatching him personally. The loss of fear she must have been carrying around like a dead weight these several months left her free… practically ready to float away in the breeze like a daffodil. Of course, that was all exactly as I expected as soon as I heard Mr. Bingley describe the cretin's demise. What I did _not_ expect was to find her with her hand resting in the crook of Richard's arm. It had crept there during the revelation, and I doubt she even noticed it. It would be interesting to see what happened when she did, but I put her out of my mind. I glanced at Lydia and made certain she would keep a close eye on Charlotte.

With my sisters well in hand, I turned my attention to the other newcomer. Charles looked quite different than he had a year and more previously; the last time I saw him. I imagine adversity had me looking different as well, but I could tell he was trying his best not to stare at me, so apparently it had done no harm. I was made of sterner stuff though, and it was _he_ who was out of place, so I simply stared at him with a look that would make a grown man cringe, but he simply stood there and said nothing, just looking at me neutrally, as if he were willing to take anything I had to dish out. He seemed changed, and it took me a few minutes to notice the specific changes, but my curiosity got the best of me and I asked.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley. Do please enlighten us."

He did not wilt under the combined stares of the six Bennet sisters in the least. Perhaps he was now a bit stronger himself, but if so I had no idea why. He said, "Ladies, well met. I am delighted to see you all once again. Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Catherine, Miss Lydia, Miss Darcy."

In my surprise I had not even heard the carriage drive up, which made our mad dash through the woods somewhat superfluous but I did not mind. I was just happy that Anne and Aunt were joining us.

I turned my head to nod to Anne who had run up breathlessly, and at Aunt Catherine who was approaching more slowly, leaning heavily on her walking stick. I could see her hip was bothering her again. I looked at Kitty and Mary, and they rushed over to offer assistance. Ordinarily that would have been the duty of the gentlemen, but I had them all where I wanted them and desired answers more than propriety… and besides that, I was uncertain I could pry any of the men out of their current positions without resorting to my commanding voice.

Mr. Bingley was just gathering himself to finally answer my question after being interrupted by the arrival of Anne and Aunt, but I silenced him for a moment to allow them to catch up with the story. Kitty and Mary were assisting Aunt, so they filled her and Anne in on the particulars of what had happened thus far. Anne gasped in surprise, and Aunt just smiled in satisfaction. I loved her more at that moment than I ever had before.

The fact that Fitzwilliam, for our determination to call him 'Darcy' did not survive close scrutiny, was standing less than a pace in front of Elizabeth staring at her was lost on nobody, and I judged that if Elizabeth was allowed some diversion, it was high time I had some as well.

"Brother"

Fitzwilliam managed to tear his eyes off Elizabeth to look in my direction, and I asked sweetly, "You _do_ remember our conversation, do you not? I told you that you could invite Mr. Bingley to ask me to _dance_. Is this your idea of a _dance_?"

I admit it probably was not funny to anybody but the two of us and Lizzy, but I had to work with what I had, and I also wanted Charles to know… well, to tell the truth I had no idea what I wanted him to know except that at this particular moment, pending further review, I did not dislike him as much as I probably should.

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth did remember the conversation, and they both laughed softly, while the rest of the assemblage looked on in confusion.

I wondered what Fitzwilliam would do, but he answered me quite sincerely.

"Jane, the question seems sensible enough, but since I _did not_ in fact invite Bingley, it seems the duty falls to me."

Then he returned his attention to Elizabeth, or I should say the tiny bit of his attention that he had devoted to me and said, "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of accepting a dance?"

Elizabeth seemed a bit puzzled but played along, asking, "Which dance, Fitzwilliam?"

With a knowing smile, he simply replied, _"All of them!"_

It may have taken a moment for the true question to percolate through Elizabeth's mind, but once she was aware of what he was _truly_ asking, she answered just as unconventionally… not that there had ever been anything ordinary about the two of them.

She just closed the small gap that had grown between them, wrapped her hands around his head and kissed him. I do not mean she kissed him, I mean **SHE KISSED HIM**. It would have been more subtle if she had thrown him to the ground and tied him up with a convenient rope. It was the most proprietary act I had ever seen, and left not the slightest doubt in any of the dozen assorted observers where this was going. My brother, not a man in the least big intimidated by the impending leg shackles wrapped his hands around her waist and bid propriety goodbye and good riddance for quite some time. I suspect that by the time the two of them were done with that kiss; their entire lives had been negotiated without a single word.

She at long last released his head, and probably to her surprise found herself standing on top of his boots. She did not seem to mind, so she just wrapped her arms around his waist and put her head on his chest, where we all knew it belonged in the first place. I was just thinking at first that everything with these two was all-or-nothing, but that was not quite right. It was actually all-or-all. There was never any _nothing_ when these two were together. It was fire or ice, love or hatred, success or failure and I was quite satisfied to see which side of the knife blade they had been walking they fell on.

Aunt Catherine arrived not long after that, and surprised us all by simply reaching over and kissing Elizabeth on the cheek, then reaching up on tiptoes to do the same to Fitzwilliam.

Fitzwilliam's coachman appeared right behind her and said, "My lady, your butler was kind enough to have three chairs tossed on top of the coach while you boarded. Would you care to sit?"

It was yet another incongruity, but by that point none of us were bothered by such things, and she once again surprised us by saying, "I thank you for your kindness Mr. Mallory. I believe I shall."

The man held the chair for her, and she sat down gracefully while two other men brought a chair for Anne and another for Elizabeth. Anne sat down gratefully without a second thought, but Elizabeth seemed torn between the chair, and the man that was almost certain to go hunting after the archbishop within the hour. He finally resolved her dilemma by gently disengaging her hands from his waist and pushing her back half a pace. Then with what I am quite certain was a terribly wicked smile, he simply scooped her up by her shoulders and knees, and sat down in the chair with her sitting in his lap. We all laughed until we cried at his antics, before finally turning back to Mr. Bingley.

He was sitting here laughing with the rest of us, and I wondered why exactly we were all still standing here in the lane watching the parsonage burn, but it just seemed the right thing to do. So long as Aunt, Anne and Elizabeth were comfortable, the rest of us were well satisfied.

Elizabeth managed to tear her attention away from Fitzwilliam for a moment, and I wondered how long she had been aware she loved him. Her story of the week before the attack in the parsonage could best be explained by her heart knowing it while her head rebelled, but it could just as easily be explained by me being a silly and romantic girl with fanciful notions; and the both of them being confused about anything and everything. In the end, so long as she was sitting on my brother's lap, and the two most hated men in the world were being converted to ash as we stood there, I was perfectly content with the world in all of its particulars.

Elizabeth, always the one for odd requests, said, "Jane, would you please move one yard to your right."

That was an odd request, but easy enough to accomplish.

She continued, "Mr. Bingley, would you please move one yard to your left and back about half a pace?"

He complied as well, and then she just sniggered like a schoolgirl playing a naughty prank before saying, "Proceed at your leisure, Mr. Bingley."

She looked at her betrothed, for there was not the slightest doubt he was that, and shared a laugh with him. She told him quietly, "The circle is complete, Fitzwilliam."

Not a man for a dozen words when no words were required at all, he just kissed her and smiled the same enigmatic smile.


	42. Regards

The sound of Wickham's name nearly had me crying in despair, until I heard the rest of it, looked at the burning parsonage, and felt light as a feather, ready to float away in the breeze. I could tell Elizabeth was concerned about how I would take the news, but she only needed a glance at my countenance to know that all was well.

The arrival of Jane and the rest of our assorted sisters along with Aunt Catherine (I had finally bowed to the inevitable and thought of her with that name… but 'inevitable' in this case had actually been about a week), I was back to feeling at my ease.

Yes, I was _quite_ at my ease, perfectly comfortable, until of course, I realized where my hand was. I saw Jane assign Bennet sisters to look out for me with a few glances, and I found I did not mind. Considering that I did not appear to have complete control over my own hand, it seemed sensible and wise. Mr. Bingley was of course staring at Jane like a man dying in the desert staring at a distant river, but I doubt Jane noticed. She was as hardheaded as Lizzy when it came right down to it, but like her sister, I thought that if this man proved worthier than his previous actions had supposed, she may end up in a similar state.

Of course, since I had just witnessed quite possibly the oddest phrasing for a proposal in history, who knew what might come next. I was quite curious about what would happen with Mr. Bingley's story, and equally curious about what was wrong with my own hand. Now that I was aware of it, I thought I should just return it to where it properly belonged. Unfortunately, once I removed my hand from the crook of his arm, the rest of my arm turned traitorous, and my legs joined the rebellion. Somehow, a few seconds later I found I had wrapped my arm even tighter against Richard's arm and had stepped half a pace closer… practically touching.

It was the oddest thing, but it felt like some kind of fog was lifting from my mind for the first time in seemingly forever. The ever-present fear was gone in a puff of smoke… and in this case it was literal and not figurative as was usually the style. I was free to actually _think_ for the first time in quite a while. I had always been a practical woman, uninterested in romance, wanting only a comfortable home. I had found a man that was willing to give me all of that and more after knowing me for less than an hour, _and_ being well aware of my shame, and I had discarded him without a second thought, _just because I was afraid_. Now he knew the very worst thing about me, and yet, still he was here attached to my arm. I wondered how Lizzy had survived her year of fear, and how she had finally allowed her heart to be open to another; for make no mistake, she had given it to Fitzwilliam freely and without reservations right in front of my eyes.

Their story might give me a lesson, because I had heard it all, beginning to end… except for the one hidden part that she would share with none other… except I doubted very much that Fitzwilliam did not know it. _For them, nothing had ever been easy. Nothing had ever been proper. Nothing had ever been affectionate, or nice, or cordial or any feeling that could lead to love, except that_ _ **it had**_. Fitzwilliam was a good man who took care of her sisters when he did not have to, but I was quite convinced she had given her heart to him well before the attack. Nothing else would explain her bizarre behavior during that very odd week. She was in love, and simply would not admit it to herself. _There was no need to overcomplicate things. It was as simple as that._

Richard, who had somehow became Richard in the last half hour noticed the change of my hand, but wisely said nothing. He somewhat unwisely reached over and covered the hand on his arm with his own, but I thought I had given him provocation enough to not be alarmed by it. In fact, I found it comforting. My sisters had been telling me relentlessly for months that he was worthy and I should give him a chance, so while all attention was focused on Mr. Bingley, I whispered so softly only he could hear, "I am sorry."

He looked at me carefully, and said, "You have nothing to apologize for. Give me time and I shall provoke something worthy of an apology for the ages, but to date, nothing you have done merits it."

Perhaps I had spent too much time in Lizzy's company, but I said, "If we argue about this apology for much longer, we will work our way up to needing a real one."

He just laughed at that, squeezed my hand tighter, and we returned our attention to Mr. Bingley, but I found both the laugh and the squeeze… comforting.

Ever the taskmaster, Jane said, "Pray continue, Char… Mr. Bingley."

She looked embarrassed at the slip, but he did not. He began his story.

"Well, you see, I am here because I brought Wickham to kill you Darcy."

We all gasped in surprise, and he realized what he said in something of a panic, " _Not to actually kill you, of course._ I had letters I thought were from you, asking me to hunt him out and bring him here at a specific date and time, so I thought I was following instructions. He was deucedly hard to find."

This was hardly an explanation, and everyone started talking at once, and it took Jane's command voice to calm us all down.

Jane asked, "Where did you actually find him?"

He replied casually, "St. Giles eventually. He is the sort of man you have to hunt like a chicken hunts a fox. I had to set myself up as tempting bait and let him find me."

Richard and Fitzwilliam gasped, "St. Giles!", but of course the rest of us had never heard of the place. It took a couple of minutes for the description to sink in, and I had to look at Mr. Bingley with a newfound sense of appreciation and respect. It was not a place a gentleman like him went without some considerable risk to both life and limb. In fact, it was a place a rich gentleman like him did not go at all… ever.

Jane asked, "Is that where you got that old bruise on your face, or the damaged left leg, or that sore right shoulder?"

So, she was not so completely indifferent to the man after all, apparently.

He said, "Not at all, that was in the rookery before that one… I think, or perhaps the third one. I cannot recall the exact place anymore. It has been a couple of months."

So, he had been hunting Wickham in the worst rookeries in London for months, not days. That was fascinating, and I could feel Richard tensing up more and more as the story continued, so I squeezed his arm to calm him down. Where I got the instinct, I have no idea.

That unleashed a torrent of questions, with Bingley simply telling every new facet of the story with a matter of fact nonchalance as if he were describing the most recent ball or race, and every new question generated an even more startling new answer.

Richard finally asked, "A rich man like you in that place must have been a very tempting target. How did you do it?"

Mr. Bingley just laughed and said, "Oh, I was not rich at the time. I sold my townhouse, and let it generally be known that I was on my way down. Rumors like that are frightfully easy to spread. Oh, and I may have pretended to be a drunk and an opium eater in the process. And of course, I had Stockton to teach me the tricks, so it was all quite simple really."

Jane just stared at him in stunned disbelief, as we all were doing. _Sold his townhouse! Destroyed his reputation! Opium eater!_ There was no place you could even take ahold of that narrative to begin.

Jane finally asked, "Did this mysterious letter writer tell you all this? Tell you the details of how to accomplish the task? He sounds like… well, I do not what he sounds like… either heartless and cruel; or a genius; or both."

Mr. Bingley just grinned, but it seemed to have more substance than what we had seen last year in Hertfordshire, and he said, "Not instructions per-se. Just a few guess about where he would hide and some things to motivate me…"

He stopped in consternation about what he might say, so I prompted him, "Pray continue, Mr. Bingley. I shall not be distressed, and then pointedly looked up at the smoke still billowing into the sky."

He stared at me for a moment, and he said, "The letters told of… a supposition of what happened with you Miss Lucas."

I looked at him carefully, and with true respect and said, "The suppositions were correct. I owe you my thanks, Mr. Bingley. I owe you a life without fear, and I shan't forget it."

Richard somewhat surprisingly added, "And mine, Bingley. You have my respect as well. I would have been afraid to go there by myself looking for him."

Richard just snorted at that. He knew what he was about, and I determined I would learn more about the particular risks Mr. Bingley had endured for our sake… but then stopped and stared at him. How had that thought flitted so easily through my mind? That I would be having a private conversation with him, and that I did not mind the idea. Perhaps Lizzy was not the only stubborn one who spent all her time arguing with herself in a hopeless match.

Fitzwilliam added, "I owe you as well Bingley. I had a dozen men hunting him with nothing to show for it, and I frankly would not have known where to begin."

Mr. Bingley seemed uncomfortable with the praise, and said, "I was not alone. I had Stockton. You could not have done it Darcy. It required a new money man on his way down. It was my task. There was also…"

Mr. Bingley looked even more sheepish, and then stared pointedly at Elizabeth, until she said, "You knew?"

He simply nodded. There was not need to enunciate _what he knew_ , and I saw Lizzy, quite unable to actually speak, just mouth the words, _"Thank you."_

The exchange was not lost on Jane, and she looked at him with… what she probably did not quite realize was a proprietary look of her own.

Jane finally, asked, "So if it was not Mr. Darcy that set you on this path, who was it?"

Mr. Bingley looked uncomfortable with that, paused at least half a minute, and finally said, "Before I tell you that, I must tell you that this _person_ sent me off on a hopeless chase, and would have been happy for either myself or Wickham to come to harm… for good reason. _This person_ held Wickham at gunpoint, then locked him in a cellar with Mr. Collins and oddly enough two fire irons, and let them engage in a peculiar sort of 'sport' until they reached the inevitable conclusion, while _this person_ sat and had tea with me listening to the mayhem with hardly a concern in the world. _This person_ then deliberately encouraged the fire you see behind you. _This_ person is an implacable and formidable person, although possibly a bit heartless as well. Are you certain you want to know?"

Jane stared at him for a moment, wondering if she truly wanted to know someone who could do something at the same time so noble and so heartless; so wonderful and so terrible; so valorous and so despicable. She finally said, "May I presume you are not intending to disappear again?"

He just said, "No, I am not!" with a finality that I admired.

Jane nodded, seemingly not in the least perturbed by the assertion, and said, "Then I should like to know."

Mr. Bingley looked around at all of us. The drivers and groomsmen had returned to the coach and taken it well out of earshot, so it was just those of us intimately involved.

He finally shook himself and said, "Mrs. Bennet sends her regards."


	43. Campaign

_A/N: Coming close to the end now and I truly thank all of you for the tremendous response. Keep them up, as I am absolutely loving them._

* * *

I am a careful and diligent man, and in that month at Pemberley and the trip back, I planned my campaign with great care. It was to be a quiet but relentless campaign. I would first work out a way to save Longbourn without Elizabeth going through with that mad scheme her father cooked up. That would require finding Wickham and making sure he came to the attention of the militia, his creditors or both. The dozen men I had assigned to the task were not producing results so I would make it two dozen or three or maybe I would go hunt him down myself. Bad things can happen on a troop ship, or in debtor's prison, or maybe just on the field of honor at the end of my sword if I became impatient. I would have to somehow work out a way to save Longbourn, although with all five Bennet sisters under my protection, I may have been able to just let it go. The community had not died when Bingley left Netherfield, nor would it collapse when the Bennets quit Longbourn. There was no need for Elizabeth to do all of that to protect her sisters when all I had to do was convince her I would protect them with my life. I had only been reacquainted with them for a day when the attack in the parsonage came, so Elizabeth had never seen my love for them firsthand; but _she would_. Then it would be a slow campaign. I had already earned her trust. Next would be her friendship, and eventually I would just wear my quarry down with my displays of love that might well take months or years to produce results, but eventually I would prevail. Yes, it was a good plan. A very good plan.

My campaign lasted around ten seconds, and ended with the rough equivalent of the enemy king suing for peace while my groomsman was still asleep and my warhorse still unsaddled.

At the end of that **FIRST KISS** , I was well and truly besotted… not that I wasn't before, and nothing could ever make me unhappy again. After the first minute or so with Elizabeth in my arms, I could well imagine our life in Pemberley, our children hanging off her skirts, the skinned knees of our sons when they fell out of trees, the anguish of our daughters when they put frogs down their dresses… or with Elizabeth for a mother, I probably had that precisely backwards. Either way, frogs and scrapes would be part of our loving family, and all would be right with the world. One day I would be old and gray, looking back on a life well lived, and I would be doing it by reminiscing with Elizabeth.

Somehow, a few minutes into that magical afternoon that made no sense to anybody, I got Elizabeth sitting on my lap where she truly belonged. She was still so small and skinny after her illness she seemed little bigger than Georgiana had been the last time she had done the same, but she was recovering and I had no doubt I would have to get her on her own horse or she would be dragging me for miles through Pemberley's woods within a fortnight.

I was just coming to my newly revised battle plan, which mostly centered on the relative proximity of the archbishop versus Scotland, when Elizabeth very impertinently put Bingley and Jane in the exact spots where she had that awful conversation with her father that had begun this mad adventure. While I quite despised her father, I had to thank whatever gods of fortune were smiling on me that I got to listen to that conversation that finally ended in such a feeling of happiness. Who could have imagined that just a few months of the calendar and just over a week in each other's company could have produced such a result? I had not the slightest idea how I had been so lucky, but I would take my luck where I could get it!

Bingley's tale both exhilarated and frightened us, and I was just beginning to learn how to give comfort to my love, a process I expected to take some time. I could feel tension grow in first her legs, and then her back as the tale became more and more dangerous and daring. I felt her taking on the weight of Bingley's risk as it was abundantly clear he had done it either in her honor or because he still loved her sister or just because he felt it was time for him to become a man. Either explanation placed her squarely in the middle of the ordeal, and I felt had to fight her tendency to take the burden of his choices which he had freely made. Looking at Bingley, I could see a new confidence and stature in him. This was no longer a man who would take advice from his mentor; which considering how bad the advice turned out to be was probably for the best. He might discuss his issues with me as a friend in the future, but we were certainly equals in all ways now, and in courage and fortitude one could make a good argument he was my superior and I would not disagree.

As I was thinking such weighty thoughts, and Elizabeth was becoming too tense for my liking, I found that I could sooth her anxieties by gently rubbing small circles in her back or her shoulders, or by squeezing her waist against me with the hand that was across her stomach. Given our complete abandonment of all manners and rules of society for the moment, all of those seemed the right thing to do there and then. Some of Bingley's words made me tense up in shock as well, and she would squeeze my hand or put her hand over my heart, or simply tuck her head tighter into my shoulder to return the comfort.

By the time Bingley finished his mad tale, and stood there looking at my sister with a loving look, I wondered… truly wondered at the tricks of fate. Jane had been right. Neither of them would have found contentment and happiness starting from the Netherfield ball, but I had no doubt they were both of the right caliber _now_ , and supposed I might be dealing with him more as a suitor than a friend before too many months had gone by. Actually, that was probably wrong. I thought days or weeks might be more to his liking, presuming Jane did not discourage him. She did not look very likely to do that right there and then.

When his astounding tale was complete, the parsonage was finally running out of things to burn. Many of the locals had come by to see what was happening, but since the parsonage was isolated enough to just let burn, I found that my carriage men and some of Aunt Catherine's footmen had formed a sort of protective circle around our group, and would allow nobody close enough to see or hear us.

When we all decided it was time to return to Rosings, I spoke up.

"Bingley, I will presume my aunt offers you the hospitality of Rosings. Will you be joining us?"

To his credit, he looked first to Jane to get a small nod from her, then to Charlotte to get her small nod, and then to Elizabeth who was not satisfied with a nod."

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Charles! You survived St. Giles, you can survive a house full of women. We are not _all that much more dangerous!_ "

With that, the rest of the sisters made sure he was quite welcome, and he finally accepted, although his opinion of the relative danger of Bennet sisters versus St. Giles was not remarked upon.

Before we left that magical spot though, I spoke up one last time.

"My friends and sisters, I have one more thing I would like to say, just to make certain everything is absolutely clear and unambiguous."

Everyone looked at me wondering what madness I was planning to perpetuate, so I got right to it.

"Elizabeth Bennet, Love and Light of my Life. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

She just nodded her head, smiled and cried; and we were all most satisfied.

I was unable to resist adding, " _At your very earliest convenience."_

She just laughed along with everyone else, and I started shifting in my chair to help her to her feet, and was surprised by an unexpected command.

"A moment, if you please Nephew!"

We all turned our attention to Aunt Catherine, sitting there looking quite pleased with the afternoon with Kitty and Mary standing next to her. All three looked as lovely as any three women I had ever seen in my life… well, aside from Jane and Charlotte and Anne standing next to them.

Aunt said, "That was an excellent proposal, Fitzwilliam. Well worded. Succinct. Proper. Heartfelt. Truly, all a proposal should be."

I smiled in gratitude, and she said, "Elizabeth, your answer lacked verbosity, but made up for it with expressiveness, so I applaud the entire operation."

Elizabeth nodded in appreciation, but then I caught a small grin on her face, and a look of mischievousness in both ladies and wondered what was coming next. I braced myself for a storm, and that is exactly what I got.

Aunt continued, "Yes, a most excellent proposal and I will allow that special circumstances required a slight bending of the proper forms since your intended was already on your lap."

Now everyone was just looking perplexed, and she looked around at the rest of the group, and said, " _I will expect the other two to be done properly on their knees!"_

I just laughed along with Elizabeth who did not look as surprised by the declaration as you might have thought she would. Apparently she knew my aunt better than I did, which was hardly surprising.

Richard was the first to take a knee, despite having to extract his arm from Charlotte's, who had already been clinging to him so tightly it would have been considered a compromise in more normal circumstances.

He still beat Bingley to the ground, and proved his mettle with his next words.

"Miss Lucas. I believe _Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of_ _choice_ _. Were you to marry me tomorrow, you would know as much of my character as if you studied me a twelvemonth._ Every day of our life together, we can choose to be happy, to be kind, to be loving, to be good and loving parents. Should you accept me, that child you carry shall be _mine_ , regardless of any past circumstances, and loved and honored exactly the same as the rest of our children for all the days of my life. I lay my heart at your feet, for you somehow captured it in the first five minutes of our acquaintance, and I have never regretted the loss. Miss Charlotte Lucas, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife? Will you choose to be happy with me?"

I would like to say I could describe the look of delight on Charlotte's face in some detail, but to be truthful, both Elizabeth and I were crying so hard by the time he was done, all we could hear was Charlotte's affirmative response.

"Richard Fitzwilliam, you are an honorable and loving man, and I can now see the kindness you have shown all around you and the love you have shown me. I will be your wife with all of my heart and all of my love, if you will kindly get off your knee and help me back to the carriage. My back is killing me!"

Did I ever tell you that Charlotte is my very favorite sister!


	44. Wonder

_A/N: Coming close to the end. I have one more chapter after this one, and if you can stand one more surprise, an epilogue. Wade_

* * *

My wonder with the events of that special afternoon where all the bad things in the world were going up in smoke right in front of my eyes, and all the good things in the world were standing around watching was so complete that I left the world of the rational entirely. In that magical time, the thinker my father had created through deep reading, discussion, and an education that probably rivaled Fitzwilliam's was cast aside. My unbounded faith in my own perspicuity and ability to sketch characters which typically vacillated between conceited arrogance and abject abysmal failure was cast aside. My knowledge, training, skills and intelligence were completely redundant and unnecessary. For around an hour, I was _entirely_ driven by my heart, _and my heart wanted Fitzwilliam Darcy more than I had ever wanted anything in my life_.

I have no idea whether his almost joking request for all the dances of my life were intended to be an actual proposal, a statement of future intent, the start of a campaign, or something entirely different. I had no idea if he was ready to chain himself to me for the rest of his life; although I at least had enough sense to know that if he was trying to avoid the parson's mousetrap, he was not putting very much effort into it. Back in Hertfordshire I could convince myself he stared at me to find fault, or he asked me to dance for his own amusement. No such illusions were allowed for a man who lifted me from the phaeton by the waist exactly as I would expect him to place a future daughter on her first pony, and a man who did not like me would not have held me against his chest exactly like I would hold that selfsame babe to my breast. No, the day was confusing enough, but I would have had to be very silly to not see that he loved all of the Bennet sisters in general and me in particular.

When he said the first thing that could even vaguely be considered by any stretch of the imagination to be a statement of honorable intentions, I decided that surprise and wonder were _not_ my only emotions, nor even my primary ones. My biggest emotion at that moment was _impatience_ , and I simply staked my territory with the implacability of a lion, and much to my satisfaction, but _not_ to my surprise, my territory was quite happy to be staked.

Sitting on his lap was like coming home after a long journey that involved rain, snow, brigands, pirates, fever, pestilence, mayhem and murder to find your beloved awaiting you by a roaring fire while the wind blew and the rain fell outside your cozy cottage with your children arrayed at his feet listening to a favorite story while their loving father did all the voices perfectly. It was the most intense feeling of _comfort_ I had ever experienced in my life, and I wanted _more_. I wanted _it all_. Most importantly, I wanted _all of it right now_.

Charles' story was nearly my undoing, but the love of my life knew how to give comfort when it was required, and I could feel his tension melt out of him when I offered it in return. We were two pieces of a puzzle that just fit together, but had glue on the edges so once fit together, could never be broken apart again.

I recognized the mischievousness in Aunt's eyes right after his entirely redundant but ever so wonderful _proper proposal_ (as if the two of us _ever_ did _anything_ proper), and just grabbed the lapels of his waistcoat tighter, thinking I hoped I got a better start with the housekeeper at Pemberley than I was likely to get with his valet that evening, and waited for the storm to begin.

Richard gave the second-best proposal in history, and my friend, the ever-practical, ever-sensible, no-nonsense, just-wants-her-own-home Charlotte answered him with a joke… or more likely her back did actually hurt and she just wanted to get it over with. Sometimes even I could not tell with Charlotte. I was ever so slightly concerned until he stood in front of her with a look in his eyes so non-subtle and so obvious it was like the sun breaking through clouds. _It was even so obvious that Fitzwilliam and I could have recognized it_. I was most gratified when my ever-sensible friend returned the same look of love, which had perhaps just been snuffed and hidden by her fear. Since our little circle seemed to be entirely free of propriety, she followed the usual accepted protocol for a proposal acceptance, by locking her arms around his neck and giving him a **_KISS TO END ALL KISSES_**. It was most amusing to see what my kiss must have looked like, and Charles actually started taking a step towards the couple quite gallantly, just in case he swooned. It would not do for a pregnant woman to have to save her intended from falling to the lane.

She said, "My back feels ever so much better now, but I am tired; so Charles, I believe it is your turn."

Fitzwilliam had to laugh at the look on Charles' face. The man who faced down the worst brigands in St. Giles looked decidedly nervous and I thought he might feint himself; which might have damaged his reputation as a ruffian.

He had just seen the two best but probably most unorthodox proposals in history, and felt like he had to say something worthy, but the voice we heard next was surprising.

" **Yes** "

We all snapped our head around to look at Jane, who was standing there looking like the old serene Jane from the Netherfield ball. We all knew she had acquired a fiery temper, and a commanding tone over the past year, but this was the old sweet tempered Jane… and I was quite certain she would stay that forever; or at least until the next time she was crossed.

Charles was a bit flustered by that, and he said, "Might you be more specific, Miss Bennet."

The ever sweet Jane continued without a pause.

" _Yes_ , if you wish to call on me. _Yes_ if you wish to court me. _Yes_ if you wish to marry me in the parlor at Rosings when the archbishop gets here in…"

And with that pause she looked quite pointedly at Aunt Catherine and waited.

Aunt Catherine did not disappoint.

"Tomorrow morning. He is in love with my cook, Mrs. McCarthy… or in love with her strawberry scones anyway."

We all just laughed at that.

Jane turned back to Charles and said, "… as I was saying, marry me in the parlor at Rosings, Monday morning at ten o'clock, right after Lizzy and Charlotte. Pick your poison Charles, but do not ever call me Miss Bennet again. Henceforth, I am either 'Jane' or 'Mrs. Bingley' to you.

For perhaps the very first time in the recorded history of England, Charles Bingley was entirely bereft of words. He was stunned into silence, completely incapable of making a single utterance, but since his silenced included carrying a wiggling and squirming Jane-soon-to-be-Bingley in his arms towards his carriage that had been quietly brought down the lane, it was probably for the best. How he managed to kiss Jane while carrying her towards the carriage was a source of astonishment to us all; or at least it was until the rest of the lunkheads demonstrated the process on our own journeys in their arms to the Darcy coach.

Both of our men looked at Aunt Catherine to offer gentlemanly assistance, but she simply said, "Do not even think about it", and then stood up and went back to the coach with assistance from Mary and Kitty.

Did I ever tell you Mary and Kitty are my favorite sisters?


	45. Scones

A/N: Just two chapters left and an epilog. All three will go up tonight.

* * *

The most surprising thing about the fact that I practically dragged Charles to the altar by his hair was that it was perhaps the least surprising part of that entire episode. In less than five months our entire world was turned upside down, and all of our lives were changed almost beyond recognition. By the time I'd saved Charles the trouble of making up a superfluous proposal, I imagine I was just like Lizzy; impatient to stake my claim; impatient to have my own share of happiness; not particularly in a mood to be denied or delayed or curtailed. In a sentiment I would not learn for some time exactly matched my mother's, I found that I had waited a year and a half for my boy to become a man, but I had never really forsaken him in my heart. I am not entirely certain I would have ever let anyone else in if things had not worked out as they had. Perhaps that is overly pessimistic since I have found that all of us are much more resilient than we ever gave ourselves credit for, but at this point it really matters not. I had what I wanted and I was more than content with what I had. And of course, there was also the convenient fact that after St. Giles, he probably would have stalked me like a madman if I had not accepted anyway.

After Easter services on Sunday, we managed to enjoy a leisurely afternoon with our beaus and our sisters, the very last day of this chapter of our lives, before he started the next chapter on Monday morning. The Archbishop arrived on Sunday afternoon. Apparently Mrs. McCarthy had added a few lines to indicate the relative availability of strawberry scones on Sunday luncheon, and the near certainty of their disappearance, considering she planned on hosting at least two men that were nearly indistinguishable from wolves, at least with respect to scones. True to a man of his stature, being asked for three common licenses hardly caused him to even raise his eyebrows, although the fact that brother Fitzwilliam asked him in the middle of luncheon probably helped matters along. Within five minutes the common licenses had been arranged, and the archbishop was well engaged in a much more important topic, which apparently included the relative availability of venison pie for supper.

As difficult as it was, I finally put my foot down and banished the gentlemen to billiards or port or whatever other manly pursuits they wish to engage in during the evening, because I felt it important to relieve all of my sisters of a certain bit of ignorance they had about the events of that spring. We could not go in good conscience to on to our men without a full accounting, and full knowledge. I gathered them together, and began.

"Sisters, before we engage in this next phase of our lives, I believe you are all owed a few answers."

Mary, naturally it was Mary, answered, "Such as exactly why you invited everybody at the parsonage to tea on a Saturday afternoon, hmmm? Or maybe you care to elaborate why you had a screaming match with Father in November and we found ourselves here two days later, hmmm?"

I might have blushed at those comments earlier in my life, but certainly was not inclined to do so now.

"Yes, those among other things! But let me begin earlier in the story."

All of my sisters gathered around, with any semblance of any other occupation tossed to the side like debris.

"It began last November, when Father came to make that ridiculous bargain with Lizzy!"

Lizzy flinched as if I had slapped her, and the rest of the ladies gave me their utmost attention, whilst alternately stealing glances at Lizzy. I knew this was terribly unfair to Lizzy, but I wanted to make absolutely certain that any tiny residual remnant of an idea about keeping that bargain was dead and buried. I would burn Longbourn to the ground myself before I let her sacrifice so much as a toenail for it. I also thought I owed it to her to let her sisters know in no uncertain terms what she was willing to go through for their sakes. She would survive the embarrassment, although she would probably be mad as a wet cat at me for a while.

To her credit, Lizzy said nothing, and I continued.

"Father played on her sympathies mercilessly, and convinced her to have a child that could be passed off as the heir to Longbourn before Mr. Collins died, because the next distant heir to Longbourn was actually Mr. Wickham. He wanted her to produce a male child… any male child, before ten months after Collins death."

I do not love analogies as much as Lydia, but I would have to say I could have smashed a hornet's nest in the middle of the room and gotten less reaction. Lizzy turned absolutely pale, and I felt bad about exposing her, but she would get over it. The rest of the girls went absolutely mad and started talking at once, competing for the loudest voice.

Lydia eventually prevailed, so angry that I can see the telltale vein pulsing in the side of her neck. She turned to Lizzy and, said, _" Is this true?"_

Lizzy nodded, and in barely a whisper said, "It was the only way to save you… and to save myself. Yes, I agreed to it and planned to keep the agreement right up until I no longer could."

Mary, ever the analytical member of our little family said, "it actually does make a certain amount of sense, given who you knew and what you had available to you at the time. Perhaps in a week I might think of another way, but I certainly cannot now."

She took her turn with Lizzy's hands, and said, " _It was bravely done, Lizzy! Very bravely!_ Does Fitzwilliam know about this?"

Mary was always faster than the rest of us, and got to the heart of the matter almost instantly.

Lizzy's embarrassment disappeared instantly, to be replaced by her fiery temper, and she said, "Do you truly believe that would marry a man and keep such a secret from him?"

Mary, not one to be intimidated, said, " _Of course not_! But I wanted to hear you to say it!"

Lizzy, lost in her memories said, "Fitzwilliam accidentally overheard me make the bargain. We had the discussion in the exact spot we spent yesterday, since I would not let Bennet into the house. He knows… he has known all this time."

She stared around at the sisters, and whispered, "He knows _everything. Every little secret. Every bit of shame or remorse or violence, _and yet he still loves me."

The sisters all started at the word 'violence', and Lizzy explained in some gruesome detail exactly what Fitzwilliam knew she had done, and then they just stared at her in awe. Perhaps she shared more with our mother than you might think.

Finally, she stared into herself in reflection, and said, "All of this he knows, and still he loves me!"

She looked around at all of the sisters, and added, "… and he loves you too. He took you under his wing for _me_ , but he loves _you_ for what you have become to him completely independent of me. The same is true of Aunt Catherine. I suspect my mother seeing to the two worst men we know only sped up the inevitable."

Mary, satisfied that she knew enough about that particular debacle turned to me, and said, "Pray continue, Jane!"

I blew at a breath, and said, "While father was over making that _bargain…"_

Had it not been unladylike to spit on the floor after that word I would have done so, but then I continued.

"… I had a _conversation_ with our mother. It was the very first time I used what you like to call my ' _commanding tone'_ , the very first time I found that particular voice, the very first time I well and truly understood what the infamous Bennet fiery temper can encompass. I used it all mercilessly. For the first time in my life I actually wished physical harm on someone. Mother told me what she had done, which we had all suspected, but never confirmed. She also told me what she suspected was happening in Hunsford. She also had some vague idea of what father was going to propose, although he never brought her into his confidence and she was only guessing. It is fortunate there were no ready weapons in the house of the time, because I may very well have killed her."

All my sisters sat stunned, trying to imagine the conversation that they had missed, and also I suppose, trying to work out how I had managed to keep this from them all that time.

"When father came back, I dragged the details of his conversation with Lizzy out of him with words I will not repeat in polite company, or any company. It was worse than my conversation with Mother."

Their heads were no doubt spinning in circles, while I was getting as angry as Lydia just from the memory. They all stared at me in rapt attention.

I reached across, took Lizzy's hands in mine, and squeezed them as reassuringly as I could, before whispering, " _He threatened Lizzy with the only thing she truly feared_! _He threatened her with our welfare._ He said he would marry the rest of us off to husbands of his choosing before he allowed his family estate to come under the power of Wickham!"

Lydia was back ready to kill someone, starting with the first of our parents that stumbled into her view, but I stared at her until she managed to calm down before she said anything she could not take back.

Lizzy said, "Calm down Lydia. I offered him a choice, one of which included me killing him where he stood. He has received a setdown you cannot possibly imagine, far worse than anything Jane thinks she may have said. If he is ill, there was a good chance I could have killed him with my words alone. Please let it rest. Retribution is not yours. His reckoning will come soon enough."

I continued before the two of them might say any more, and I did _not_ want to know any more about what Lizzy had said to our father.

"I was not about to be a party to any such thing. I _forced_ Father to send all of us to Kent instead of just me as he had agreed by threatening to expose the entire mess. I told him if a single Bennet sister was still in Longbourn by the end of the week, I would tell every gossip in Meryton the story myself."

Now my sisters just sat in stunned disbelief, none of them capable of saying a single word. Such a threat was so far beyond what they thought me capable of that they had no idea how to react.

I continued implacably, "I would have done it! I made him see in no uncertain terms, I was perfectly willing to drag him down with us."

I again took Lizzy's hands, and said, "Lizzy, I have one more confession. I do not really know how or why I did it, but when I left I agreed to write to Mother and tell her _the truth_. She had earned _nothing_ from me, but some instinct made me agree to it. She agreed to keep my privacy, and why I managed to trust the most prolific gossip in Meryton I do not know, but I did it."

Lizzy by now was so shocked she really could not say anything, but I had to finish the story.

"Lizzy, she knows what she did! Do you know she talked to Charles for perhaps half an hour whilst waiting for Wickham and Collins to do themselves in? She knows what she did, she knows what she is, but in the end she did her best to undo the damage. I do not ask for forgiveness for her, only acknowledgment."

Lizzy looked at me and said, "You did the right thing Jane. It all worked out for the best, so do not chastise yourself. All of us can only do our best, and you were looking out for your sisters. I have no complaints. I am curious though, how you managed to keep Aunt and Uncle Gardiner out of this, considering how long I was gone."

That question was at least one I could answer without causing any more distress.

"Initially, I simply bludgeoned Uncle into submission on our way here. He was my next victim after father, but I was certainly not going to allow another family to come to ruin just because ours was. He let us go along only under the most intense objections, but he had to look to his family first."

I blew out a careful breath, and added, "After the attack, I do not believe there is a single thing in the world that would have kept him and Aunt from our door except the protection of your Fitzwilliam. Aunt Gardiner knew of him and trusted him. Your man made it abundantly clear whose protection we were under, and Uncle accepted it."

With what I suspect there were our last secrets now exposed to all, I think we all felt a great sense of relief. Those of us who are planning to be married on the morrow were relieved that we could go to our new husbands and our new lives in our new homes with our new children with nothing hanging over our heads. Those who would be married later knew that they had good men, good sisters, good family to see to their entry into adulthood, and I firmly believed all would be well.


	46. Ballroom

I must say that the day I lost my three very worthy nieces to marriage may well have been the happiest day of my life, and it remained so until my Anne married her Thomas two years after Lizzy; although the day Anne's little Margaret was born might have ranked quite highly, and the day her George was born was not to be disdained either… but back to my point.

With only one day to prepare the wedding, I did the only thing a woman with my extensive experience and much celebrated good sense could do; I assigned the task to all the nieces who were _not_ presently engaged to be married, and retired to my parlor to enjoy the company of those that _were_. Of course, with the way things were proceeding in Kent in that Spring, there was no guarantee that any members of the former would not join the ranks of the latter before the day was out, but we all hoped for the best.

The girls dusted out the ballroom for the ceremony. It had not been used in years, but with five girls to be introduced to society the next season, I imagined it would have to reclaim some of its former glory. The girls, in a frightening breach of the usual rules of propriety, invited _everyone_ who worked at Rosings to witness the ceremony; apparently believing that the three marriages were so farfetched they would need to be certain of as many witnesses as possible.

And so it was that the three loveliest ladies I knew entered the ballroom together at ten o'clock Monday morning, the 19th of April in the year thirteen; and they all walked past everyone who could be stuffed in from the stable boy to the butler.

They all, every one of them, glowed with happiness, and I imagine I could describe their dresses or their hair or their other fripperies in agonizing detail, but to be candid, I mostly saw only the happiness.

Elizabeth, resplendent in a blue dress with the long sleeves that hid the scars on her arms and would no doubt grace her arms for all but her husband for the rest of her life just like Anne, had her hair up with two onyx combs holding it in place. They made me practically weep, as the last time I could clearly remember seeing them was when my sister Anne walked down the aisle wearing them to marry George Darcy. My nephew had clearly brought them from Pemberley with an agenda in mind… clever boy, my Fitzwilliam.

Jane was wearing a light yellow dress, and her hair was held up with some combs that belonged to Anne. Her beau would have ridden to London for his mother's jewels with only another day to wait, but the suggestion would have sent all the men practically into hives, so Jane would have to make due. Jane had a look of serenity about her face that had been absent these long months, and I thought it may well be a reasonably permanent fixture. Her husband to be seemed a most amiable gentleman, solid as a rock and a credit to his sex. He had made a point of telling me he had not always been so, to which I naturally replied by rapping his knuckles with my fan. _I knew what he had done._

Charlotte was the type of woman that other mothers would try to call 'plain', but that was only because there was a feeling of solidity to her that others may have lacked, and she certainly had her fair share of beauty. She wore a green dress, deliberately tight across the middle under her bosom, simply daring anyone to criticize her. She had taken a level of censure that only Elizabeth, Betsy or I in this house could _truly_ understand, and had set her own path using her own means; _and_ she had not forgotten to bring young Betsy with her… make that six girls I needed to introduce into society, although Betsy's turn would not come for some years.

Elizabeth's Uncle Gardiner performed the office of escorting her to her waiting betrothed. A flurry of expresses had brought him along with his wife on a Sunday afternoon which would ordinarily have been considered bad manners at best, but he did what he liked. Sergeant MacDonald, not looking the least bit repentant that he had not kept a closer watch on the miscreant Collins on his last day on this earth stood up proudly with Fitzwilliam, while his wife stood as witness for Elizabeth. I had invited them both to live above stairs at Rosings, but they were perfectly content where they were so I simply resolved to keep a watchful eye on them from afar.

Richard's brother, the viscount stood with him as witness, and his father, the Earl of Matlock gave away Charlotte. The way his wife Beatrice was hovering over the poor girl, I suspect it was only considered a temporary handoff, as they would be whisked off to Matlock before she could take a breath, and all those clothes the girls had made while watching Elizabeth may or may not survive the ordeal. Charlotte would do well, and I was proud to know her. Betsy was to stay with me as my ward along with the rest of the Bennet sisters, and all were happy with that arrangement; or at least they would be until one of the sisters got antsy and 'borrowed' them for a month or a season. Having no shortage of woman to stand up with Charlotte, the Bennets all drew straws for the honor, and Mary won the privilege.

As anyone who knows them would expect, Lydia stood up with Jane, and much to the assembled crowd's amusement, Fitzwilliam took a small diversion from his duties as groom to give her away. Everything was done strictly according to protocol in my home, I can assure you of that. He had far more influence and protection in her life than her father ever had. Mr. Bingley had a man named Mr. Stockton to stand up with him, although he was slightly cagey about exactly what the relationship was. Mr. Stockton was a very gentlemanly man, that I was certain would do very well for one of the other Bennet daughters, but matchmaking was not my business, so they could work it out for themselves.

And so it was that I had three lovely ladies standing up next to three very worthy gentlemen, and all was right with the world. Certainly there would be trials and tribulations and vexations and pain and birth and death and enjoyment and… just life. The fates had tested all six, and eventually but not without some real difficulty found them worthy. These men and women had not only rescued themselves, but they had rescued me and I would be forever in their debt.


	47. Epilogue

I sat at the dressing table next to my lifelong best friend, nervous and anxious and filled with trepidations such that I was near to fainting, or worse yet acting like Kitty described her mother's previous behavior in detail when I got in a mood like this. I could well remember her mother at the Netherfield ball ten years past, and we loved to joke about it, but when I met Mrs. Bennet five years ago, free of her husband and living her dotage under the watchful eye of her daughters, she had calmed down considerably and I actually quite liked her now. I could never ever in my wildest imaginings have predicted it back during that ball, nor during the dark days of the few years that followed it.

I can well remember when Charles came for me in Scarborough with Jane. It nearly kills me to think of the things I said to him, to her, to everyone I knew. Charles came back to my aunt's house with a new wife, and frankly a new set of what the Spanish like to call 'cojones', although Kitty either chastises me or giggles with me when I use such a word, or some even worse ones I picked up from Charles' friend Mr. Stockton. His alteration is so painfully obvious to me now, but I had no idea of what he was about then except he seemed to want to ruin my life, and he went about it with an implacable stubbornness that bordered on insanity. It would be a very very very long and painful set of years before he was willing to trust me with the story of how he grew them.

I cannot even pretend to think of what I said to Elizabeth back then, when I found she had snatched my so-called prize from right under my nose, and I am still somewhat shocked that she repaid hate with love, gave back acceptance when I gave censure, and somehow taught me what it means to be a true lady. Where she got her strength back then I have no idea, and why she kept inviting me back to Pemberley time and time again was a mystery I was completely unable to unravel.

It had taken a lot of time, and a lot of patience from my new extended family, but finally at long last, I was broken down to nothing and brought back from the dead. Nobody else knows what I tried to do the night Kitty stumbled on me and brought me back from the very edge of the abyss, and neither of us plan to enlighten anybody anytime soon, but it was the breaking point. From that night, we have been nearly inseparable, and I for the longest time had no idea if she was not ready to be married, or if she was just not ready to throw me out on my own.

Kitty was the last of the Bennet sisters still unmarried, but it was certainly not for lack of suitors. They swarmed to her like bees to new spring flowers, and she just deflected them with the greatest of ease. She was much like a good batsman, deflecting one man off in one direction, and another off in another. Kind hearted and sincere men got the gentlest of releases from her attention, and eight times out of ten an introduction to one or two ladies much more suited to them. Rogues or cads she was perfectly well capable of taking care of herself, but she usually let Lydia deal with them, just because Lydia enjoyed it so much. I can say that Lydia and I had more than one screaming match back in the early days, and I always suspected Kitty would send Lydia deliberately to wind me up, and then she would come along and calm me back down. I have no idea why Kitty took me on as a project, but it was some years before her considerable efforts were rewarded by first my grudging respect, and then my friendship and then my love.

We were standing one day at a ball, nearly five years after I met her and possibly my tenth season; in the same grand ballroom in Rosings where all the Bennet girls had been married (the Bennets are either traditionalists or superstitious, but they all adopted the same ceremony). With my thirtieth year behind me, I was actually distractedly listening to Kitty while wondering at the relative merits of one spinster's cap versus another, when both of our worlds were turned upside down in less than a minute.

The two gentlemen were that rarest of commodities, and by that, I do not mean amiable and well‑mannered gentlemen, because it turns out that the world is full of them if you know where to look and you do not scare them off by acting like a badger. No, I mean they were identical twins, and it was nearly impossible to tell them apart. They both asked us to dance, and I have to say both of our hearts were probably lost before the music even started, and we were completely hopelessly besotted before the set was over. A second set was requested, and that naturally required the gentlemen to call the next day, and the next and the next. Our courtships were slow and steady, both of us I think afraid of committing the last bit of ourselves to another. Our beaus were not alike in temperament, but both had by some good fortune picked the one of us who best suited him, and they gradually turned our initial infatuation into true respect, and then into love.

Now, here we were sitting next to each other, getting ready to go and join our intendeds in that same ballroom at Rosings. How Lady Catherine (I never could quite mange to call her Aunt) managed to handle my ill manners during those first few years is even more of a mystery than Lizzy, but I have learned to accept such things. Whether she did it for her Bennet nieces, for me, or for her own reasons I could probably find out by asking, but I had not the courage and she did not press.

Our intelligence indicated that our intendeds planned to make a bit of a show of the wedding, being of a humorous bent, but we were much cleverer than they and we had our own surprise worked up. Kitty and I had _identical_ dresses. Same color dress, same style, same cut, same ribbons, same lace (long sleeves of course), same stockings right down to the same color for the ribbon holding them up, same shoes. In honor of the fun, our maids had even dressed identically this morning, and did up our hair with the exact same style, the exact same number of small pearls, and the exact same combs. It was to be the grandest affair, and we even thought we might just walk up to the wrong groom just as one last joke on the world.

As we came down to go into the same ballroom we had met our beaus in, Lady Catherine was being helped in by Anne's husband, Thomas with their boy and their girl trailing happily behind. The two were quiet and studious most of the time… at least when Lady Catherine did not put them up to mischief, and I liked them immensely. Lady Catherine stopped by and gave us both a small kiss on the cheeks, clearly in her element and as happy as it was possible to be. With Betsy Clymer's wedding just a year before, we were the last of her nieces that she hoped to see well settled before she had her own reckoning. She walked quite poorly now, favoring her hip more and more each year, but we all hoped she would grace us for some more years.

Fitzwilliam and Lizzy came in right behind Lady Catherine, and went in to try to settle their two girls and two boys down, before Fitzwilliam came back to give Kitty away. Lizzy was working on bringing their brood up to five, and would be entering confinement in a month or two. The two girls were spitting images of Lizzy and Kitty, and I would say the two boys most resembled Charles and Richard. For obvious reasons, the practice of naming the firstborn male after the mother's surname had been consigned to the rubbish, and Fitzwilliam certainly did not regret its passing. His heir Samuel was a studious boy just like his father, and nobody had the slightest doubt he would do well. The girls were delightful, and I planned to 'borrow' them from time to time if I could, although like most women, I hoped to one day have one of my own.

Charlotte and Richard were already sitting down with their own three. Their oldest daughter Emma was the oldest of that generation, and everything delightful it was possible for a girl to be. Kitty and I amused ourselves trying to come up with better descriptions for her. The two boys I did not know quite as well, but thought well of them. The eldest was to be the heir to Longbourn, and he seemed a boy that was up to the task. It was kind of funny how easy the heir situation in Longbourn had been to solve once Lady Catherine thought about it for five minutes. When Mr. Bennet passed, it was split evenly between his daughters and wife, and Fitzwilliam simply bought all the pieces, put it back together and gave it to Richard and Charlotte. I had never truly understood what happened in the year thirteen to make him do that. I could have asked, but Kitty told me I probably did not want to know, and I was content to take her at her word.

Mary sat there with her three daughters wearing the spectacles that had appeared on her head about five years before, next to her husband, Professor Smithson who had nearly identical spectacles and the same studious air, but let me tell you… if you wanted to have an argument with either of them on any subject whatsoever, you had better have your head on straight. They were like two peas in a pod, and their girls were probably going to change the world someday. I just hoped I would be around to see it.

Georgiana was chatting with her sitting next to Anne. Georgiana's boys were probably somewhere teasing Lizzy's girls, or they might be hunting for pirates or highwaymen. They were the most adventurous boys I knew, and Fitzwilliam had an astounding amount of diversion winding them up before sending them back home to her.

Lydia was not attending, as she was in Paris with her husband and two girls and I understood one more on the way. Her husband was a diplomat, and I suspect he either started or stopped wars every week by threatening other ambassadors with Lydia.

And so it was, with my big family that had managed to save me either from the ghost of my father or from myself depending on how you looked at it. They all looked at Kitty and I standing there resplendent in our identical dresses, and I knew for a certain fact that they all loved me and their love was the only thing between me and an endless black hole of despair. When my life had come so close to being over and done with, they had saved me, just because I was family, and just because they could.

We approached our beaus who were standing with the same besotted looks they had when they approached us at the dance, almost certainly matching our own expressions. Charles handed me off to Thomas, and Fitzwilliam handed Kitty off to James.

Archbishop Brown had come out of retirement just for this ceremony… you understand, superstition and all that. With nearly eighty years he was not as spry as he once was, but he still kept a proprietary eye on Mrs. McCarthy and if there were not scones at the wedding breakfast, I would not want to be in the same house.

Nervous and excited, I looked over at Kitty and saw the same expression. She borrowed one of my hands from my intended to give it a squeeze, and then left me to the love of my life while she devoted her attention to her own.

The archbishop was also a traditionalist, so he had the same Book of Common Prayer he had used to marry all of the Bennets including Betsy. It had been his fathers before him, and he had to borrow it from his grandson for the ceremony.

He gave us all a good look, and a little mischievous wink for the identical brides, opened the book and along with it, the next chapter of our lives.

"Dearly Beloved…"

~~~ Finis ~~~

* * *

 _A/N: Well my friends, we come to the end of another story. I hope you enjoyed it. If you laughed a little, cried a little or any or all of the above then I am well satisfied. If it made you think just a little bit about what goes on in the world, it would be much more than I could hope for._

 _Every bad thing I mention in this book happens here in our world, right here, right now every day. You can see the attention going in waves, and there are always villains, always heroes and always those caught between the two._

 _In much of the world, women and children's status is the same or worse than that described here. In the western world it is better than it has ever been in history, mostly because a lot of brave women and men have fought for it for a long time, but there is still a long way to go before we have a truly just society. There will always be those who wish to prey on the weak, and use politics, power, money, status, wealth to make a good supply of the weak to prey upon._

 _You see it in the papers every day, powerful men who have gotten away with it with impunity for decades. Those who think power and wealth and privilege earn them rights to hurt people. You see it among more ordinary people with domestic abuse calls that are deprioritized or not reported in the first place, victims that make excuses for their abusers or people trapped in abusive relationships by threats, poverty, money, habit or pressure. You also see a lot of blaming the victim, even in our modern world._

 _We also see many people trying to change things for the better by acting better in word and deed, or by exposing predators or helping victims or trying to change the conversation or even just changing societal bias. It is a slow process. I would hope that we are all doing our best to help the world along towards that better and more just place, even if it is only through moderation of our own speech and conduct._

 _I of course do not have enough conceit to think I materially changed the world, but perhaps, just perhaps, I may have given a few people a little something to think about. Words Matter, so maybe a few people will be less likely to use denigrating words, or toss around phrases that belittle other people and call it 'locker room talk' or 'guy talk' or any of the other euphemisms. Perhaps one person somewhere might be less likely to use harsh measures with their children, including words._

 _I'll get off my soapbox now, and bid you adieu._

 _If you found the story to a good use of your time, then I am well satisfied._

 _Thank you for reading, and I have much more coming so stay tuned. If you have any thoughts on it, I love reviews and if you wish to do it privately via PM I am happy to get those as well. I write to be read, and hopefully to have some small impact on my readers._

 _Wade_


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